


The Before And After

by vaguenotion



Series: Blood Makes The Knife Holy [2]
Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Varian (Disney), Hurt/Comfort, Lots of liberties also taken with magic and alchemy, Lots of liberties taken with fantasy politics, Whump, no beta reading we die like mne, this is the weirdest buddy road trip movie i've ever seen, we're making jazz over here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 121,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23322922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaguenotion/pseuds/vaguenotion
Summary: Being the most brilliant mind since Demanitus has painted a target on Varian's back. When a curse throws Corona into chaos, Eugene and Varian find themselves on the run with old enemies closing in on all sides.A war looms, and an uprising threatens to take advantage of the chaos. Unless they change the rules of the game, they're not going to win.Set post-series.
Relationships: Brother bonding - Relationship, Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider & Varian, Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider/Rapunzel, found family - Relationship
Series: Blood Makes The Knife Holy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677211
Comments: 731
Kudos: 786





	1. Crossroads of War

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Like Blood From A Stone. I don't know that you need to have read the first part to grasp this one, but I will certainly be referencing it. Your call, man.
> 
> Hello again! You know how some shows have a 60-minute pilot, when the rest of the episodes are 40 minutes? This first chapter is long. The rest, ideally, will not be. Just throwing that out there.
> 
> Also, if you are the kind of person that enjoys film score and having mood music for fics, I have included a link to my writing playlist at the end of this chapter! There's a little key for which song goes with which scene. Just in case you're curious. (The key will have vague spoilers, just a heads up.)
> 
> Now then. Let's rock and roll.

If there was one place in Corona’s capital that Varian was certain he’d always feel welcome in, it was Xavier’s blacksmithery. 

Ever since that ill-fated trip to Herz Der Sonne’s tomb, he had always felt safe among the trappings of the shop. It was familiar to his own workshop, projects and hazards every which way. Arguably, Xavier’s shop was more organized, but Varian didn’t have the burden of running a business to motivate him to stay tidy.

As he ducked in out of the rain, he found the shop empty. The kilns were all blazing, warming the space to an uncomfortable degree. Varian passed his eyes over the work tables and tools, hoping to spot the old man, but all he found was a small sign that read ‘ _ Back Soon’ _ in awkwardly-fitted hand lettering. 

“Xaves,” Varian called, thinking perhaps that the man was around some corner within earshot. He was answered with the heavy breathing of the forge and the crackle of ever-burning fires. 

Curiously, Varian ventured further into the shop, pulling his hood down and smoothing his hair back. “I have that delivery you asked for,” he tried again, thinking perhaps if he stated his reason for being there, the man would appear. When he was answered again with silence, he heaved a sigh. All the way here through the rain, and he happened to drop by on a lunch break. Perfect.

Varian retrieved the bundle that he’d had tucked under his arm and cloak. The burlap it was wrapped in was mostly dry, but any moisture in the tiny gears would be bad, so he set it on one of the workbenches and unwrapped it. 

Beneath the rough cloth, a beautifully intricate clock sat untouched by the rain, ticking away. Varian had been bent over its mechanical innards for about a week now, carefully removing and replacing rusted cogs and springs. Xavier had told him the long-winded story about how it had come into his family, how it had travelled across many oceans and survived a great war, only to slow and stop working with age. It had been an easy fix, if not a slow and steady one, and Varian had been looking forward to returning it.

And yet, Xavier was nowhere to be seen. Unwilling to leave the clock unattended (and equally unwilling to come back later, with the rain showing no signs of letting up anytime soon) Varian glanced toward the cold fireplace on the far wall of the shop. He knew how to get behind it, into the secret passage that led down to Xavier’s store room. It was the most secure place to leave something so precious.

Sparing only a glance toward the rain outside, Varian picked the clock up with care and started toward the fireplace.  _ Hell, _ he thought,  _ maybe he’s down there. I can hand it right to him. _

When the fireplace pulled aside, his hopes of finding Xavier below vanished from his mind. Darkness swallowed the steps only a few feet down--there was no way anyone was working down there.

Heaving another sigh, Varian felt around in his bag for a vial and gave it a shake. Pink light enveloped the top of the staircase, and he began his descent.

Halfway down the stairs, he began to see different points of pink light reflecting back at him, far more numerous than there should have been. Varian frowned, holding the vial out further, but it did nothing to reveal the shapes below. Not until he stepped carefully onto the stone floor at the bottom of the stairs and examined one of them up close did he recognize what it was.

A rack of spears, sharp and freshly forged, reflected the pink light from almost every surface. Varian’s frown deepened. He turned to another rack and found more of the same, before his eyes landed on a heavy oak table. When he approached, the shape of an unlit lantern came into view.

Varian set down his vial and the clock and took up a match to light the lantern. The golden light provided a much bigger halo than his alchemical vial, and gave him a more proper view of the room. Blinking curiously, he turned back to examine the spears more closely.

It was not just the two racks. A forest of spears stretched into the darkness beyond the reach of the lantern. Varian turned in a full circle, taking in all that he could see: carts full of military-grade swords; helmets and various armor parts in piles on the floor; halberds and maces filling in all the gaps. Varian stepped carefully away from the table and lifted a foot-long knife from a cart where hundreds more rested. It glinted in the light of the lantern, so new from the forge that Varian could see his dim reflection: concerned blue eyes, freckles across his nose, and a white line on his cheek where a scar had formed over a year ago.

The more he took in, the lower his stomach sank. Xavier wasn’t the only blacksmith in Corona, but he was far and away the most knowledgeable and trusted by the Crown. And he had enough equipment in his cellar to equip an army, which meant…

Varian turned his eyes back to the table where the lantern sat. He saw now that it was being used to hold down the corner of a large schematic, something that covered so much of the table that he hadn’t noticed it when he first set the clock down. He stepped back to it now, eyes flicking over the blueprints and measurements with a quick, critical eye.

‘A trebuchet,” he asked the darkness, his voice hushed. The construction was clearly not Coronan, but there was something familiar about it nonetheless. Something in the elegant simplicity of it, not unlike the air balloon engines he’d learned to build. In the bottom-right corner of the schematic, a seal was stamped over a block of equations that were, by Varian’s assessment, incorrect.

“Varian,” Xavier’s voice interrupted, startling his attention toward the stairs. The old man was coming down them slowly, one hand up to indicate that he did not mean to startle him. His other arm was wrapped around a collection of books. 

Varian looked up at him with tense, nervous eyes. “What’s going on?”

The man looked from Varian to the weapons that filled the room. He loosed a great sigh and stepped up to the table to put his books down on the center of the schematic. 

“Xavier, please tell me,” Varian pushed. “Old Corona is right on the border, if something is going on, I need to warn them.”

“There is always uncertainty in the world,” Xavier answered, as cryptic as ever. “It is important to be preventative, rather than reactive.”

“Preventative,” Varian repeated. “So there  _ is _ something going on?”

As Varian watched, Xavier lifted the clock from the table and smiled at it fondly, smoothing a finger over it’s glass face while the hands ticked softly inside. “It is not for me to say. You must trust that the king knows what he is doing, and will tell you if and when you need to take action.”

An argument immediately leapt up Varian’s throat, but he bit down on it and stayed silent. Xavier was right, in the same way that instruction manuals and recipes were right: officially, that was the correct way to proceed, but reality always found a way to complicate things. Varian lived and thrived in complications, in alternative solutions. Trusting the Crown might be easy for a man like Xavier, but Varian--

He trusted  _ Rapunzel. _ He trusted her with a kind of absoluteness that he had never known before. But King Frederic had a history of keeping information hidden long past the time for preventative action. 

Then again, Varian wasn’t exactly boasting a clean record, either.

“You just had a birthday, yes?” Xavier placed a hand on Varian’s shoulder, pulling the young alchemist from his stormy thoughts with the abrupt change of subject. “Seventeen years of age?”

When Varian didn’t answer, Xavier turned away and crossed the room to a wall made up of hundreds of small, square drawers. He tapped his fingers against several of them before finding the one he was looking for and sliding it open. 

While his back was turned, Varian’s eyes moved once again to the schematic on the table. It was obscured now by Xavier’s books, but the crest in the corner was still fully visible. 

It was the royal seal of Equis.

“I thought this may interest you,” Xavier said, snapping Varian’s attention back to him. “I know you will do immense good with it, both for Corona and for the people of your village.”

Xavier held out a small book. It was leather-bound, the cover cracked with age and faded from use. Pressed into the leather was the image of a rose, it’s thorn-covered stem twisting around it like a halo. 

Cautiously, Varian undid the leather tie and opened the book. The yellowed pages were perfumed with age, something that usually brought him comfort. In the moment, surrounded by the mechanisms of war, it was difficult to appreciate it.

“It contains all my recipes for potions and elixirs,” Xavier was explaining. With increasing focus, Varian flipped through several pages of carefully annotated ingredients, small sketches of flowers, and underlined warnings about each recipe. Tucked into several of the pages were pressed flowers, ingredients that were hard to come by and so were saved in the book itself. Suddenly, it was much easier to forget about the weapons all around them.

“Wait,” Varian said, “You... You’re giving me this?”

Xavier’s large, work-hardened hand came to rest on Varian’s shoulder. “You are a brilliant young man, Varian,” he said, “with a mind like nothing the Seven Kingdoms have seen since the days of Demanitus. There is no one I trust more to put these recipes to good use than you.”

The words echoed around Varian’s head, making his ears ring and his cheeks warm. He stared up at Xavier’s kind smile and felt himself flutter with the sudden, traitorous urge to cry, but he quickly swallowed it. Taking a breath, he closed the book and held it close to his chest. “Thank you,” he said, quiet and sincere.

“Thank you for fixing my family clock,” Xavier returned, patting Varian’s shoulder before turning to examine the aforementioned device. “It looks as good as new.”

“Yeah, well,” Varian muttered, still embarrassed by the praise. “Always happy to help a friend.”

Xavier gave him a sideways smile and nodded. “It will be alright, Varian,” he said. “If there is one thing I have learned, it is that there is nothing that Corona cannot handle. But please, do not speak of this to anyone. You must have faith.”

Varian set his jaw and nodded, steeling himself against whatever invisible thing had prompted the secret armory below Xavier’s shop. With his new book, Varian at least took solace in the fact that he could distract himself for the time being.

He turned to leave, and stopped short. “Oh, um. Eugene wanted me to ask you something.”

Hurriedly, Varian reached into his bag and fished around for a folded note that Eugene had handed him before he’d left the castle. When he produced it, Xavier turned and lifted an eyebrow, curiosity writ into his features. 

“He, uh,” he stammered, unfolding the note and reading it over quickly to jog his memory. “Wanted to know if his ‘surprise’ was ready?” Varian shrugged, unable to offer any clarification and hoping Xavier knew what it meant.

“Ah,” the man said, nodding. “Yes, his gift for the princess. I have it up in my shop.”

Of course it was some sort of romantic gesture. Ever since they had been married, Eugene and Rapunzel had been trying to invent new ways to surprise one another, since they could no longer make awkward proposals. Varian smiled and rolled his eyes, turning to lead the way up the stairs to the shop above.

“Please tell me he didn’t ask you to make a retractable paintbrush,” Varian implored. “I’ve already told him that painting from twelve feet below the ceiling isn’t reasonable. And that we have ladders.”

“He requested a musical jewelry box,” Xavier explained. “Much like the jewelry box from the story of the Lady of the Black Night. Long ago, in the Kingdom of Nezerdnia, a young Lady fell in love with a beautiful handmaiden…”

As Xavier launched into the poetic tale, Varian cast his eyes one final time around the huge collection of arms. A flash of fear shot through him, the anxiety of a potential conflict creeping just outside the safety of their conversation. 

Varian took a deep breath. He would have to talk to Rapunzel about it.

-

As per usual, the castle was bustling with activity. It had taken Varian a great deal of time to get used to the sheer number of people rushing around at any given hour, even if he spent most of his days sequestered in his lab or in the library. He was never far from company, or rather, company was never far from  _ him, _ since it was usually other people that sought him out first. 

It felt strange, to walk by so many people with the secret he now carried. Knowing what was queued up in Xavier’s cellar, knowing that some vague anonymous  _ thing _ was looming in the future, left Varian feeling uneasy. It was like seeing the world through someone else’s eyes, and he envied every servant and handmaiden he passed for not having the same vantage point. 

He supposed that not knowing exactly  _ what _ he was anxious about was making it worse. Still, should he be warning people? Should he be encouraging them to stock up on supplies, to call their families living in the countryside to come stay in the capital for a time?

And then he would remember Xavier’s advice, cautioning him to trust in the king, and Varian would hesitate just enough to keep his mouth shut. He had already made enough waves in this kingdom. The last thing he wanted was to cause a stir over something that turned out to be nothing. 

He was so lost in thought, frowning into the middle distance as he walked through the halls, that he did not see Nigel until they were mere inches apart. Varian came up short, startled from his swirling mind, and blinked owlishly up at the man. 

“Nigel! Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t-- My bad,” he explained lamely, offering up a nervous smile. 

Nigel stared at him down the length of his nose, eyebrows low and level. He said nothing, regarding Varian the same way one might regard a foul-smelling stray dog. 

At the lack of a reply, Varian forced a wider smile. “Always great to see your shining face,” he said, waving as if to clear the discomfort from the air and side-stepping the royal advisor. “Great chat.”

He heard Nigel scoff, but did not spare him another moment of his attention. Varian continued on his way, heat rising to his cheeks. He was more than used to Nigel’s disdain, but that didn’t make it any easier to weather it. 

“You are expected,” Nigel said behind him, abruptly and in a clipped tone. Varian faltered and turned to face the man, who was regarding him with that same sour look. “In the library. The princess has summoned you.”

Varian blinked, his mouth opening to reply before he knew what he wanted to say. Nigel did not wait for him to figure it out. The man turned in a huff and continued away down the hallway, hands folded neatly behind his back.

With a frown, Varian looked in the direction of the library. Rapunzel had asked for him? Maybe…

_ Maybe she knows about the threat, _ Varian thought, a spark of hope igniting in his chest. That had to be it. He had helped with so many other situations, and Rapunzel knew just as well as he did that King Frederic liked to keep secrets well past their expiration date.

Propelled by anticipation, Varian hurried down the halls, dodging passed people in the midst of chores. He offered a few hushed apologies as he went, trying to stay out of their way. He knew first hand how difficult it was to keep up with palace chores, even if he had only spent a day doing it a few years back.

In short order, he arrived at the open doors of the library. Lingering at one of the carved oak tables beneath a towering wall of books, Rapunzel and Eugene stood flanking both the king and queen. The monarchs were sitting, both of them leaned over a box with curious expressions on their faces. Arianna was examining the top of the small chest with a magnifying glass. Nearby, a few members of the royal guard milled about, the ever-present security detail. 

When Rapunzel spotted him, her face lit up. She seemed almost surprised to see him. “Varian! What great timing! Can you help us with something?”

Cautiously, Varian approached the table. His nerves warred across the back of his neck, discomfort and uncertainty and awkward hope all wriggling together. In spite of all he’d done to try and earn their forgiveness--and in spite of all the reassurances Arianna had offered him that he’d received it--Varian still felt uncomfortable around Rapunzel’s parents. 

“It’s this blasted lock,” Frederic was explaining, gesturing to the top of the chest where Arianna was investigating. “It’s some sort of puzzle.”

The queen sat upright, smiling warmly at Varian in greeting. “We received it as an anniversary present, but we can’t seem to get it open. Any chance you could take a look at it?”

“Yeah,” Eugene huffed, planting his open palm on the table and leaning his weight onto it, “no offense kid, but I am a  _ master lock pick, _ and I can’t even get it open. Don’t feel too bad when you hit a snag.”

“I’d be happy to help, your majesty,” Varian offered, his hesitance loud and clear in his ears. Arianna smiled kindly at him and slid the box across the table for him to get a better look at it.

“Ooh, it’s so exciting! What if it’s some sort of time capsule,” Rapunzel was positing. “It could be anything. It’s almost better not knowing!”

The chest was made of mahogany, a carefully polished and beautifully-made thing. In the center of its lid, a circular golden puzzle lock looked back at him. It was made up of a series of interlocked shapes, each one designed to slide around the others. Upon first inspection, one piece appeared to be missing from the pattern.

“We’re wondering if the missing piece is a key,” Arianna explained, her voice warm and excited.

Varian frowned, his discomfort set aside as curiosity won out. He leaned in, examining the pieces of the lock closely.

Eugene straightened his back and arched an eyebrow. “See, the real conversation we should be having is how to open the box without destroying it completely,” he offered. “Like, prying the bottom off. Probably not their intention, but effective nonetheless.”

“That’s cheating, Eugene,” Rapunzel scolded good-naturedly. “If we can’t get it open, maybe it should just remain a mystery!”

“There’s absolutely no fun in that,” Eugene cut back.

“May I,” Varian asked quietly, holding out his hand for the magnifying glass. Queen Arianna handed it to him happily, and he leveled it over the puzzle with care. There were scrapes, almost imperceptible, along the insides of the pieces around the missing spot. Varian set down the glass and tugged at the fingers of his gloves to remove them.

“Perhaps the gift is just the box itself,” Frederic mused. “It is a fine piece of craftsmanship.”

“Also no fun in  _ that,” _ Eugene insisted.

With bare fingers, Varian touched one of the pieces beside the missing spot and pulled at it gently with the pad of his finger. It resisted for only a moment before sliding over into the blank spot. 

_ There you are, _ he thought, grinning despite himself as he slid another piece, then another, until he was rearranging the entire lock. Slowly, as he fitted things together, the carved details on each piece began to line up, forming an image.

“Oh, you’ve got it,” Arianna announced, encouragement in her voice. 

“Wonderful, Varian,” Frederic agreed, and a small burst of embarrassed joy swelled in Varian’s chest. He clicked a few more pieces into place, and stopped.

He was starting to recognize the image. 

Oblivious to the sudden hesitation on Varian’s face, Eugene leaned in. “Well now hold on, if it’s just a slide puzzle, I can solve it,” he said in defense of his ego. “Here, like this.”

Where Varian was frozen over the box, Eugene leaned in and slid a few more pieces into order. 

“Wait,” Varian warned, looking up suddenly. With his focus glued to finishing the puzzle, Eugene didn’t see the look of alarm on the alchemist’s face. Rapunzel, however, did.

“Eugene, wait,” she said, laying a hand on her husband’s shoulder. 

It was too late. “There,” Eugene announced, standing upright and planting his hands on his hips. “Done!”

Varian dropped his eyes back to the box. The finished puzzle below was a chilling sight. Set into the golden lock atop the box, the crest of Saporia stared back at him.

Before his eyes, the lines between each piece began to glow with red light. Varian took a half-step back, eyes widening as the lines began to seal shut, fusing together into a solid seal. 

Everyone leaned back, startled. Whether or not they had recognized the symbol from upside down, Varian didn’t know. They were startled by the magic, and that was enough for Arianna to stand up, and for Eugene to back up, one arm going out in front of Rapunzel protectively. 

Abruptly, the seal popped upon like the lid to a beer stein. From inside the box, red smoke snaked upward into the air between the group. 

Everything that happened next happened far too quickly.

“Your majesty, get back,” Varian warned, his voice so sharp that everyone obeyed without hesitation. Still seated, Frederic only managed to climb to his feet before the smoke circled him.

“Dad,” Rapunzel burst at the same time the Queen called her husband’s name. 

The smoke enveloped the king in a cloud, making him cough and hack. While he floundered, a section of the cloud broke away, snaking toward Arianna. 

Quick as a whip, Rapunzel lunged, sweeping her frying pan down through the moving smoke before shoving her mother out of reach. The tendril dissipated and vanished, too dispersed to hold its shape. 

The guards across the room rushed forward to aid their king, racing headfirst into the red cloud. Varian could see the vague shape of one of them grabbing for Frederic before his hands went to his own throat, caught in the curse.

Varian stood rooted to the spot, staring at the chaos before him. Unable to move from shock, he didn’t notice Eugene swinging around to his side of the table until the man had grabbed his upper arm and was hauling him backwards away from the mist.

“Get back,” he barked, shielding Varian instinctually. 

In the middle of the room, the cloud began to break apart into separate tendrils of smoke, all of which twisted away from the source and sped off through the open doorway into the rest of the castle, out open windows, through the servant’s door. There were a finite number of them, each moving as if sentient. None of them lingered in the room, and as they vanished, so too did the cloud that they came from, until all that was left was an open mahogany box and clear air.

Varian could see Rapunzel protecting her mother across the library, frying pan at the ready. Eugene kept his arm out in front of him, equally braced for whatever would be revealed when the smoke was gone.

But there was no monster, no ghost or ghoul, nothing to fight. Only King Frederic, coughing and waving a hand back and forth in front of his face to clear the air. The two guards who had rushed to his aid were doing the same, looking around blearily for a target that was no longer there. Silence and confusion fell over the library like a blanket.

“Frederic,” Arianna said, stepping forward with her hands outstretched. “My god, are you alright?”

The king turned, eyes widening at the sight of his wife. “Arianna,” he declared, relief flooding his voice. He rushed to her, folding his arms around her as she blinked in surprise. “Arianna, thank goodness! You’re alright! Are you unharmed, my love?”

“What? Yes, yes, I’m fine. Frederic, are  _ you _ alright?”

“I’m not the one who was taken prisoner,” Frederic replied, leaning away only far enough to look his wife in the eye. “How on earth did you escape?”

In near perfect synchronization, Arianna, Rapunzel, Eugene, and Varian all blinked, eyebrows raising in confusion. 

“Taken prisoner?” Arianna repeated, frowning up at her husband with a baffled expression. “Fred, what are you talking about?”

“Dad,” Rapunzel cautioned, “your eyes…”

Varian’s head tilted to the side. Had he missed something? Eugene looked just as confused, but before either of them could ask for clarification, two halberds suddenly thrust toward them.

“Your Majesty, there he is,” one of the guards barked, adjusting his grip on his weapon. Varian stared back at him with wide eyes. One of the halberds jolted forward threateningly, making Eugene back up another step, his arm sweeping Varian back with him.

“Woah, Matthew, woah! What are you doing,” Eugene demanded. 

Frederic turned, his arms falling away from around Arianna. He leveled his gaze squarely on Varian.

Suddenly, Varian saw why Rapunzel had pointed out her father’s eyes. They were glowing with a soft, unnatural red light. 

“You traitor,” he snarled, stepping toward Varian while reaching for his sword. Startled and confused, both his wife and daughter began to protest, but their words fell on deaf ears. Frederic pulled the length of steel from its sheath and stalked forward toward where Varian stood, standing in stunned disorientation behind Eugene. “You  _ dare _ show your face in this castle?!”

“Your Majesty, hold on,” Eugene demanded, stepping to his left to stay in between the king and Varian. “This is some sort of spell. Varian hasn’t done anything--”

“Hasn’t done anything,” Frederic repeated, rage making his deep voice boom. “He has threatened the safety of the kingdom, kidnapped the queen, and tried to harm my daughter!”

The guards were circling now, their halberds at the ready. Varian looked around wildly, his heart pounding in his ears. This was a nightmare. This had to be a nightmare. This couldn't possibly be real.

“Dad,  _ stop,” _ Rapunzel demanded, trying to get around the table to intervene. One of the two guards blocked her path with his weapon. 

“Stay back, princess,” the man warned, his eyes glowing that same, soft red.

“No! Get away from him, you’re not thinking clearly!’

Her order went unheeded. Frederic continued forward without hesitation, and now Eugene was backing up one step after another, his arms out, pushing Varian back. 

“Fred,” Arianna cried, horror and disbelief in her voice. It only seemed to spur her husband on. He lifted his sword, and lunged.

Eugene was quick to draw his own weapon. The clang of metal against metal shot through the room like a firework, snapping Varian from his shock. He staggered backwards, staring with wide eyes as Eugene tried to fend off the king of Corona. 

Behind him, one of the guards swung his halberd. Varian ducked, the weapon sailing over him so close that he could feel the wind it created. He hit the ground hard, crab-crawling to the side to avoid the point of the spear as it sank into the carpet where his leg had just been. 

Rapunzel’s frying pan was there in time for the next swing. With wild eyes, Varian could see Arianna trying to wrestle the weapon away from the other guard. In the chaos, Varian was left on the floor in the middle of it all, his heart in his throat.

Eugene was a good swordsman, but he was unwilling to land any real hits. Blinded by caution, he did not get a block up in time to stop Frederic’s boot from connecting with his ribs, shoving him back into the bookshelves behind them. Suddenly, there was nothing between Varian and the king’s sword.

Frederic turned those hateful red eyes toward him and moved without hesitation. In his state of shock, Varian could do nothing but shove backward, hauling his arms up to try and protect himself.

Heat and pain ripped across the backs of his forearms where he held them up in front of his face, the force of the blow knocking Varian to the side. The slash was so quick that he had no time to recover before Frederic raised his blade for another strike--

And then a table rammed into the king from the side. Eugene, hunkered down and bracing against the table’s other end, was shoving it with all his strength. It knocked the king into the guard that Arianna was fending off, causing both men to topple onto the floor. A loud  _ clang _ , and the third guard fell, stunned by Rapunzel’s frying pan. 

From his spot on the floor, Varian stared in horror at the collapsed king as the man struggled to disentangle himself from the guard and get up. He didn’t notice Eugene rushing to him, grabbing his upper arm, hauling him to his feet. He barely heard the clatter of more guards approaching, of the king shouting an order to  _ seize him, seize that wretched little traitor. _ Rapunzel was at his other side in a breath, her eyes wide with panic and determination. 

“Get him out of here,” she cried over the rising din of oncoming guards. “Eugene, get him somewhere safe!”

“What about you,” Eugene called back, taking Rapunzel’s hand in his. She pressed a kiss to his lips and shoved him away. 

“I’m not the target. I’ll figure this out. Varian, I will  _ figure this out,” _ she repeated, her tone a hard promise. “Just get out of here! Go!”

Varian turned his eyes to her, wide with panic. “But I didn’t--” he tried, before the words lodged in his throat and he couldn’t say any more.

It didn’t matter. Eugene was already moving, pulling Varian at speed toward the servant’s entrance. Varian stumbled, barely managing to keep his footing. He threw a desperate look over his shoulder.

“Rapunzel,” he called, his voice unfamiliar in his ears, numb and terrified. She only looked after them, her face mirroring the feeling, before she turned back and leveled her frying pan toward the newly arrived guards. Their eyes, Varian saw in a desperate smear of panic, were all red.

Then the small, unadorned servant’s hallway swallowed them, and the library vanished from his sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist for this fic: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=Y-NJBqGfTZKIMH49djKuZA
> 
> 1) "Pull it, Son" - Varian's theme / story intro  
> 2) "Is It Poison, Nanny?" - Varian discovers the armory  
> 3) "You Will Not Be Alone" - Xavier's gift and wisdom  
> 4) "The Royal Household" - Through the castle to the library / The puzzle box  
> 5) "Meet Drago" - The curse / Frederic attacks


	2. Exit, Stage Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A uncomfortable exchange at a party forecasts current events. In the present, Varian and Eugene run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, aside from Animal Crossing and my work inbox, it's just me, my cats, and this fic. So updates will probably be pretty frequent. Thanks to everyone for such a positive and encouraging reception to the first chapter!
> 
> Playlist updated at end of chapter.

_ Three months earlier. _

Not too long ago, relatively speaking, Eugene Fitzherbert had declared that he wanted a castle. The elaborate architecture, the stained glass, the polished door handles and beautiful tapestries: it all spoke of accompanying wealth, of success, of--dare he say it--fame. 

What he did not consider at the time was that stately castles hosted stately events, and that stately events were resolutely boring and stiff affairs that required decorum. Decorum which, as a man who grew up an orphaned thief, Eugene did not have.

He strained to keep his back straight, wondering for the thousandth time that evening how the lords and ladies all around him managed to do so without obvious discomfort. The ballroom was awash in golden light, a poetic turn of bodies moving gracefully through a dance at its center. Massive floral arrangements decorated the spaces in between gilded art frames and priceless antiques. Waiters moved like ghosts through the crowd, trays of skinny stemware bubbling with champagne. Elaborate hairstyles, expensive hats, intricate attire, all wasted on people so used to their wealth that they took it for granted.

As captain of the guard, Eugene stood in his full regalia, feeling more like a fraud than he ever had before. He had been excited about this peace summit clear up until he saw the arriving carriages and realized they expected him to be as regal as he did them.

As it turned out, word of his illustrious career had spread far beyond the borders of Corona. Royal courtiers cast him glances ranging from curious to disdainful to amused, like they knew all his secrets. And perhaps they did--after all, the story of Corona’s lost princess, returning with magical powers and defeating a mighty demon, had spread far and wide. There were novels retelling the epic tale mere months after it had occurred.

Among all the glitter and poise, a single point of familiarity caught Eugene’s eye. While Rapunzel was off engaging in a strictly-rehearsed political dance with other heads of state, Varian stood off to the side, looking about as uncomfortable as Eugene felt. The young engineer was dressed for the occasion, his sleeves stubbornly rolled to his elbows in a flash of rebellion. He was without his gloves and goggles, which was jarring to see, like spotting Max without his saddle and regulation harness. 

Relieved at the prospect of normal company, Eugene began to make his way through the crowd toward him. It was a slow process, having to stop every three feet to nod and bow and offer polite greeting to various heads of state. By the time he came without range of the alchemist, Varian had already been pulled into conversation with someone else.

Someone who happened to be, to Eugene’s immediate annoyance, King Trevor of Equis.

Varian bowed politely, clearly nervous at the sudden confrontation with royalty. “Your Highness,” he greeted, tucking his hands behind his back. 

“Well then,” Trevor said in place of a greeting, “you must be the young royal engineer that everyone is talking about! I pictured you taller.”

Varian strained to keep the confused, uncomfortable grin off his face and failed miserably. “Uh-”

“Such a sharp little mind,” Trevor continued, not granting Varian the opportunity to reply. “To have brought hot running water to Corona’s capital! Truely, an impressive feat.”

“Thank you,” Varian replied, just barely fitting it in before Trevor continued.

“But the real marvel, the real  _ magnum opus, _ my boy, why surely it must be something else! Am I to believe your only accomplishment is a series of pipes through a castle? Surely there is more to you than what Corona boasts about.”

Trevor’s heavy-handed flattery seemed to confuse Varian, who glanced to the side as if looking for something--anything--that might help him shrug the king’s attention onto something else. Eugene puffed out his chest and stepped forward to intervene, only a few precious yards away, when a couple suddenly passed in front of him while following the careful steps of a dance.

“I’ve actually contributed a number of projects to improve the kingdom,” Varian offered, clearly having not found the distraction he was looking for.

“Improve-- yes, yes, that.” Trevor waved it away like he was clearing a bad smell from the air. “But what of the rumors I’ve heard, of the true  _ power _ of your inventions?”

Varian blinked at him, not following. Trevor leaned in with and lowered his voice in a show of conspiratorial comradery, but Eugene could still make out what he was saying.

“I’ve heard rumors of the automatons you, ah, shall we say,  _ reinvigorated.” _

Even through the crowd, Eugene could see Varian’s expression fall. It was a look halfway between fear and embarrassment, so sharp and sudden that Varian was shocked to silence.

Trevor elbowed him as if they were old pals. “Now surely, a boy as clever as you would understand my concern, being a neighboring kingdom  _ without _ such technologies. There’s no truth to it, is there? I must ask on behalf of my people, you understand. I only wish for peace between our nations, but with such inequitable armaments, I have my concerns…”

Varian stared up at the man, struggling to maintain his composure. The party demanded it, after all. “They’re, um… I can assure you, that was a long time ago, King Trevor, and they’ve… they’re all decommissioned. And scrapped.”

It was clearly an attempt at soothing any fears, but it wasn’t relief that passed over Trevor’s pointed features. Rather, the man’s face pulled into a sharp and excited grin. “So they  _ did _ exist?”

Varian stammered. “Well-- I mean they existed a long time ago, they-- I didn’t build them, they were part of the, um-- of the castle’s defense, and, uh-- well they’re gone now, so, um--”

“So you have nothing to worry about,” Eugene interrupted, finally breaking through the crowd and stepping up alongside Varian. “King Trevor,” he tacked on, throwing in a stiff and insincere bow. Trevor took a step back, startled by Eugene’s sudden arrival. His lip curled in distaste.

“Ah,” he said, turning his nose up, “ _ you. _ Gave you a shiny outfit to wear, did they?”

Beside him, Eugene could feel Varian sink into his shadow. “They did,” he replied in an easy overconfident tone. “Surely, my  _ wife _ would have mentioned it when you were conferring with her earlier.”

The sour look on Trevor’s face did not lessen in the slightest. “Yes, indeed.”

“And by the way, thank you for the lovely wedding gift,” Eugene continued, milking it now. “You can never have too many seal-shaped crystal bowls.”

King Trevor only hummed in obligatory agreement. He regarded Eugene in much the same way one might regard a hideous sweater in a shop window. His gaze swivelled back to Varian without another word to the captain of the guard. 

“Your name?” Trevor inquired, raising an eyebrow. Varian, who had been leaning into Eugene’s interruption like a security blanket, cleared his throat awkwardly, startled that the focus was back on him. 

“Um. Varian, sir,” he answered, his voice sheepish. 

“Varian,” Trevor repeated, trying it out and clearly finding it underwhelming. “Well, my boy, I do thank you for the lovely chat. I look forward to more in the future.”

Eugene did not miss the sharp quality to Trevor’s smile, nor the way he assessed Varian head-to-toe before turning abruptly and walking away. Trapped in the dictations of polite society, both Eugene and Varian bowed as Trevor moved elsewhere in the crowd. Only when he was far enough away did Eugene hook his hand around Varian’s forearm to lead him away.

Behind a marble pillar and out of the fray, he turned and hovered close. “What was that about?”

Varian leaned heavily against the pillar and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. He groaned, quietly but sincerely. “I don’t know, I’m sorry! I was doing so well, and he just charged at me with all of that, I didn’t know what to do!”

Now that they were in such close proximity to each other, Eugene could see the panic etched all over Varian’s face. He could practically feel the anxiety radiating off of him. “Hey, it’s not your fault. Trust me, that guy is the  _ worst… _ Kid? You okay?”

Varian rubbed at his face. When his hands dropped, he looked down and away, avoiding Eugene’s eye. Concerned, Eugene set his hand on his shoulder. “Varian?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t think anyone would bring up the automatons,” Varian said, so quietly it was almost lost over the low murmur of chatter and classical music. 

Understanding settled over Eugene. He took a deep breath, moving the hand on Varian’s shoulder up a bit and giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, you’ve more than made up for the past. You know that, right?”

Varian said nothing. He continued to avoid Eugene’s eye. 

“Look, kid. Not to steal your thunder, but you’re not the only redeemed guy with a checkered past in this castle. I mean, case and point,” he said, gesturing at himself. His uniform sparkled in the low light. “Don’t let that creep get to you. Especially not at a party with free booze.”

At the mention of it, a mischievous half-smile broke onto Varian’s face, and he finally lifted his eyes to meet Eugene’s. The anxiety that had been coming off of him in waves began to feel more like gratitude. “There’s always free booze, Eugene. You’re married to the princess.”

“And it’s a luxury I do not plan on taking for granted. And neither should you--when I was your age, do you have any idea how much money I spent on ale?”

“You sound like an alcoholic.”

“An  _ aspiring _ alcoholic,” Eugene corrected. “Alas, I would never sacrifice this sculpted physique for a beer gut.”

Varian laughed, and Eugene smiled, satisfied that he had undone whatever tizzy Trevor had sent Varian into, at least for the time being. “Come on, kid,” he said, looping an arm over Varian’s shoulders and guiding him back toward the crowd. “Let’s go get a drink.”

-

_ Present day. _

Even with the adrenaline charging through his veins, Varian could barely keep up with Eugene. The narrow servant’s hallways were endless and winding, and the further they went, the more disoriented Varian became. The once-thief took each sharp corner without slowing, but Varian didn’t have his dexterity and had to resort to running into walls hands-first just to redirect his momentum.

It was at around the fifth turn that he began to notice the handprints he was leaving behind on the walls. 

“This way,” Eugene urged, rounding yet another corner and descending a tight stone staircase. Varian looked over his shoulder, but no one was behind them. Aside from a few startled servants, they hadn’t seen anyone since the library. Was this all unnecessary? How far did that smoke spread? Maybe it’s effects were temporary?

The stairs let out into the castle kitchens. Varian had only been down there a few precious times and had no idea why they were there now, but Eugene moved as if he knew where he was going. 

There were more people down here. Cooks and assistants moved about in preparation for the evening’s meal, lugging pots and chopping vegetables and barking orders. All of them were oblivious to the drama, and were startled by the sudden appearance of the captain of the guard and the royal engineer. 

“Afternoon, everyone,” Eugene greeted with false levity, slowing but not stopping as he headed in the direction of another staircase. “How we all doin’?”

Varian followed as close to him as he could, looking around with numb urgency. All eyes had swivelled toward them. For a moment, they were regarded with surprise and confusion, and the fleeting thought that none of them were affected crossed Varian’s mind.

He noticed several sets of red eyes at the same time that the red eyes noticed him. Confused expressions morphed to aggression. 

“It’s the traitor,” one of the chefs declared, prompting the other red eyes to reach for knives, brooms, spoons, whatever they would grab. Those who appeared unaffected by the curse looked around in bewilderment, alarmed and completely lost.

“Alright, let’s go,” Eugene rushed, reaching back to grab Varian’s wrist and pull him along at speed toward the stairs. As they rushed down the new set up stone steps, the kitchen--and the scrambling cooks--vanished behind them.

Eugene’s hand slipped off of his wrist. Varian did not lose step. 

“Where are we going,” he asked, finally finding his words as they raced downward into the cold damp air beneath the castle. 

“We can’t stay in the palace,” Eugene explained, but said nothing more as they ran. 

Down below the castle kitchen, the subterranean halls were lit only by dim torches. Soot-stained stone walls lined their path as they ran, their footsteps echoing loudly around them. The distant shouts and clatter of the red-eyed cooks sounded their pursuit, and a fresh wave of adrenaline shot through Varian’s heart. 

He was beginning to feel his limits. A cramp pulled at the inside of his ribs, and his breaths were growing shorter and shorter. Winded, Varian just barely stumbled to a stop in time to avoid running into Eugene, who was hauling up a grate from the floor in the middle of the hallway. 

“Down you go, kid,” the man urged, waving for Varian to do as he was told. When the alchemist didn’t immediately obey, Eugene lifted his eyes to him like he was insane. “Come on, we don’t have--”

But Varian wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at his arms, which had finally caught his full attention. They were both slicked red with blood from elbow to fingertip, dripping off of him readily. His palms were stained with it.

Eugene glanced at his own hand where he’d grabbed Varian’s wrist. It too was covered in blood.

Varian’s vision wobbled.

“Woah, okay,” Eugene snapped, standing abruptly and grabbing Varian’s shoulders to keep him from falling over. “Don’t look at it. It looks worse than it is. Just get into the tunnel, okay? I’ll patch you up as soon as I can, but right now we’ve gotta--”

It felt like his head was filled with helium, a woozy rush of disorientation. Varian tilted, leaning into Eugene with who knows how much of his weight, his blood-streaked arms simultaneously a mile away and far too close. 

“I can’t carry you right now, kid, snap out of it,” Eugene was pleading. Varian felt a hand curl around his chin, forcing his eyes up and away from his arms. “Varian,  _ please--” _

It was the sound of approaching guards that did it. Varian’s brain compartmentalized, snapping him back to the moment with only a lingering static in his vision. He shook his head to try and clear it and stepped away from Eugene. 

“Down,” the man instructed again, guiding him toward the hole in the floor next to the grate. This time, Varian obeyed, dropping into a seated position with his legs in the hole and then sliding in. It only occurred to him once he was airborn that he didn’t know how long the drop was.

Pain rocked through his feet and ankles when he landed, but it ebbed quickly. He stumbled to the side up against a wall to make way for Eugene. The voices above were loud now, distinct orders being barked, armor rattling as guards moved. Eugene slid in after him, hanging on to the ledge in order to pull the heavy grate back into place before dropping into the darkness below.

The guards were nearly on top of them, rounding into the hallway they’d just been standing in. Rather than continue to run, Eugene pushed Varian up against the wall, bracing his hands on either side of him to keep him there. Both of them held their breath, silence filling in the tunnel instead of their footsteps. 

Above, the guards raced by over the great, throwing flickering shadows through the small circle of cast light from above. Varian stayed as still as possible, his heart hammering in his ears, staring at Eugene’s chest with wide eyes. The man before him was motionless, steady to the point that for a moment, he felt more like a statue than a living being.

The sound of the guards began to grow distant. Varian’s lungs burned as he struggled not to breathe. Slowly, Eugene stepped away from the wall, his gaze turned toward the grate above with extreme caution. Varian could barely see in the dim light; he didn’t dare speak or make a sound first.

Eugene hooked his hand around Varian’s shoulder to pull him away from the wall and guided him slowly to the right. 

“Any chance you have a light,” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. 

Mindlessly, the alchemist patted at the front of his vest, feeling the internal pockets for what was requested. His fingers found the shape of a small vial, and he fished it out with shaking hands.

The glass vial was too slippery--no, his  _ hands _ were too slippery--and he fumbled it. The vial slipped out of his grasp, shaken just enough in the process for the chemical reaction to begin to glow, before it sailed toward the floor at an angle. Varian gasped, reaching for it uselessly.

Eugene’s hand closed around it, catching it in the knick of time. Soft pink light filled the tunnel, the same glow that had guided him through Xavier’s cellar only two hours before. 

“Oof, close one,” the man sighed. “Come on. I know the way out, but we’ve gotta move quick. If the wrong people got turned, they’ll know to search the tunnels.”

“Eugene,” Varian whispered, voice tight with panic. “I can’t-- if I run, it’ll just prove them right. What if we--”

“You’re  _ not _ a criminal,” Eugene cut back, interrupting the hesitant panic before it could bloom any further. “And even when you were, the king didn’t want you killed. Whatever this is, Varian, it’s making everyone who was infected aggressive and violent. I just saw Raymond run at you with a butcher knife!”

Varian swallowed hard. He struggled to organize his thoughts, mind flooded with images of his blood-slicked palms, of the red eyes searching for him above their heads.

He didn’t want to run. He didn’t want to believe that this was happening, that the safe space he had so carefully carved out for himself over the last few years had just gone up like tinder in the space of seconds. The humiliation of his past, the fear that he would never live it down, the nightmare of it ever repeating, it was happening. The only difference between the red eyes above and his inner demons was that the demons had already caught him.

Eugene stepped closer, shielding the vial with his hand to minimize the amount of light around them in case someone spotted it overhead. “Varian, listen to me,” he said quietly. “Whatever this is, we will get it figured out. Rapunzel didn’t get infected, and neither did the queen. And neither did  _ I. _ ” He placed a hand on Varian’s shoulder and gave him a small shake to rattle him from his reeling thoughts. “I promise you, I won’t let anything happen to you. We’re going to fix this.”

Varian felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He felt like a child, small and helpless and lost. Like when his mother died, or when his father was encased in amber.  _ Alone. _ That’s what it was--he felt alone, so utterly and completely that he could scarcely breathe.

But Eugene was there, right in front of him. With him every step. Varian swallowed the feeling, packed it down somewhere deep and out of his way, and forced a deep breath into his lungs. 

“Come on,” Eugene whispered, turning once again to lead them on. “We have to move.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=xNeoW_DNQbKLJUqif81Gew
> 
> Chapter 2 tracks:
> 
> 1) "String Quintet No. 6" - Three months earlier  
> 2) "Supermarine" - Fleeing the castle  
> 3) "Shivering Soldier" - Eugene's promise


	3. The Palace of Rot and Rats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varian and Eugene take shelter and reassess, Rapunzel hits a snag in her investigation, and something looms beyond Corona's borders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I figured out the note stacking issue! Thank you to those of you who commented to tell me how to do it, my organizational prowess is in your debt!! Soundtrack will be at the bottom of each chapter from hereon out. :^)

Eugene was a man of ample experience when it came to matters of running from the law. Granted, he was a little out of practice, and it was the first time he was responsible for a hemophobic teenaged outlaw while on the run. But he liked to think that he could handle the situation well, all things considered. 

For the better part of a day, he had led a woozy and anxious Varian through the forests of Corona, following the roads at a discreet distance. When he wasn’t worried about being heard by any passersby, he would encourage the alchemist to stay distracted by asking him any number of questions about things they passed. Does that kind of bird migrate? Why do some flowers follow the sun throughout the day? Have you ever seen a beetle so shiny?

And Varian, exhausted by whatever discourse he was entertaining in his own head, was more than happy for the distraction. In the time it took them to put real distance between themselves at the capital, Eugene learned more than he ever wanted to know about photosynthesis, astronomical patterns, and the unique camouflage of various insects. Varian had about as much information logged away in his mind as the library at the castle that he loved to spend time in, and Eugene let the kid’s explanations carry on as a welcome alternative to Varian looking down at the blood on his arms and passing out again.

(He had done so roughly four minutes after they emerged from the tunnels into daylight, which was three and a half minutes longer than Eugene thought he’d last. Even if his fainting spells were brief, they did not make it easier to escape.)

After a handful of hours, they arrived at Eugene’s intended destination. Varian, who had not asked where they were going, no doubt questioned his faith in Eugene the second the structure came into view.

It was an old flour mill, forgotten beside a creek deep in the forest. At one point, it had been a smuggling front, but whatever operation it had originally housed had fallen apart decades ago. Now it was a safehouse for thieves on the run, and it offered everything the two of them needed: a roof over their heads, a supplies cache to get them through the next few days, and most importantly, an exterior that no sane person would think to enter.

The mill itself was held together almost exclusively by the sheer amount of moss that covered it. Its great wheel rocked back and forth in the creek that ran alongside the building, but based on the algae hanging off of the lower half, it hadn’t turned property in years. 

If the monotony of travel had allowed both of them some reprieve from the day’s events, then their arrival at the mill had dropped them right back into cold reality. Varian had fallen quiet when they’d arrived, reminded that the only reason they were there was because despite all evidence to the contrary, it was the only space they might be safe for the night. Given the rust, rot, and cobwebs, it was a sobering reminder of what had happened that morning. 

By the time they climbed inside, rain had begun to drum on the roof over their heads. Eugene stood in the dim and fading light with his hands planted on his hips, looking entirely too satisfied for a man who was about to spend the night in a glorified pile of kindling and centipedes.

Varian looked far less enthusiastic. The interior was a dark, gloomy place, decorated with cobwebs and old overturned furniture. From the inside, the creaking of the wheel rocking back and forth was louder, more ominous. A few spots along the roof began to leak with rainwater, a steady beat of dripping coming from the patchy roof above.

“Over here,” Eugene said, walking away from Varian into the darkness with purpose. Unwilling to be alone in such a creepy place, Varian followed after him hurriedly. At least in the dark, he couldn't see the state of his arms. 

Eugene led him to an insignificant wooden chest in the corner of the room, tucked behind a termite-eaten support beam. Upon closer inspection, it was the only thing in the room not coated in dust and old flour, and Eugene took a certain amount of pride in unlatching and lifting the lid to reveal fresh supplies. Absurdly, it felt like showing off a piece of art he’d made--something he’d put time and effort into that could finally be appreciated.

Varian looked at him with more confusion than joy. “How did you know this was here?”

Eugene frowned at him. “Okay, come on. You’re the smartest person in this kingdom, and you have to ask that?”

Through the dim light, Varian blinked up at him with those big eyes of his. “You mean this is here from your Flynn Rider days?”

“Yeah. I swear, you rob  _ one _ church  _ once _ and a village never lets you live it down. So, hidey-hole.” He gestured around the mill as if it didn’t need any further explaining, and based on the exhaustion in Varian’s posture, it probably didn’t. “Look, the point is, we can spend the night out of the rain, out of the way, and with… well, let’s be honest, even ‘relative comfort’ is generous. But better than sleeping in the mud outside.”

Varian reached for one his forearms to hold onto and stopped the second he felt sticky blood on his skin. He took a half-breath and squared his shoulders. “Do you have any bandages in there?”

“Yes. And, drumroll please--” Eugene bent down and moved some folded blankets aside to find what he was after, “--the world’s most suspicious bottle of swill! Which I assume after the day we’ve had, you’ll partake in regardless of its shady origins, yes?”

When his boisterous presentation didn’t earn him any laughs, Eugene felt his performative energy flag. After everything--the attack, the flight from the castle, a full day’s walking and talking--he shouldn’t have been surprised that Varian had no energy for goofing around. Just because it was helping Eugene keep his nerves down didn’t mean it was helping his companion.

He took a deep breath. “Let’s get your arms cleaned up first, then.” 

-

Rapunzel knew three things with absolute certainty.

The first was that she loved and trusted Eugene. There was no one breathing in all the Seven Kingdoms and beyond who she knew she could count on more, no one who had earned her unwavering faith like he had. This was an inarguable fact that she had sworn an oath to on the day they were married, and so she knew in her heart of hearts that wherever they were, Varian was being kept safe.

The second was that for all its wondrous potential, magic only ever led to trouble. She didn’t need all of her journeys and adventures for her to know this: she had learned it around the age of four when she began to understand that her hair made her special, and it had been true long before that.

And the third was that her sphere of control was much smaller than her sphere of influence. She could demand the guards stand down, but they defaulted to the orders of the king; she could plead with her father to stop, but he was unmoved by her arguments.

The disaster in the library weighed heavily on her as she stood in the dark privacy of Xavier’s forge. At her side, Queen Arianna looked more distraught than her daughter had ever seen her. Even with the cloak disguising her, she kept glancing over her shoulder expecting guards to burst in at any moment.

“I am sorry, Princess,” Xavier was saying, “but it is only a box. The curse is no longer inside of it.”

He had the box open before him on his workbench, its walls pried apart. Inside, small runes had been carved into the wood, a barrier that had kept the spell trapped inside until someone had opened the lock on top and broken the seal. 

“Is there some way to use the runes,” Arianna ventured, a touch of desperation in her voice. “Anything?”

Xavier leaned back on his stool, his body creaking with age. He ran a hand over the top of his head. “A curse like this… it is a hateful thing. The kind of magic that once made Zhan Tiri so powerful, long ago. It is magic that feeds on greed and anger. It is not easily expelled.”

“Is that why…” Arianna stopped herself, struggling to find the words, as if admitting it out loud made it true. “Frederic, he was so…  _ violent. _ I’ve never seen him that way, not even close.”

Xavier nodded, turning his eyes to the box below. “I believe so. You said those affected by the red smoke were all out for blood?”

Rapunzel placed a supportive hand on top of her mom’s. The image of her father’s sword slashing across Varian’s arms was fresh behind her eyelids every time she closed them. “Yes,” she answered, trying to relieve her mother of some of the emotional burden. “We had to fight them off.”

“And the king, he remains convinced that Varian has kidnapped Your Majesty?”

“Yes,” Arianna said, “every time I leave the room, he forgets that I was just there.”

“It’s like they’re all stuck on a loop,” Rapunzel explained, “repeating the same day over and over again. Nothing we’ve tried has snapped any of them out of it.”

“And where is the king now?”

At this, Arianna had the grace to look away as if embarrassed. “I’ve locked him in our rooms. I was able to convince him to take some tea with a sleeping drought in it, but it won’t last much longer.  _ Please, _ Xavier, there must be something we can do.”

Warily, the blacksmith stood and crossed to a modest bookshelf where he selected a dusty tome bound in red leather. He lay it open on the workbench between them and flipped through as he spoke. 

“These curses can be broken,” he explained, “but to do so, they must be cast in reverse.”

“Cast in reverse,” Rapunzel repeated, leaning in to get a better view. The possibility of a solution brought some amount of relief to both her and her mother, but the princess knew from experience that nothing was ever so easy. Least of all magic.

After a pause, Xavier stopped turning pages and instead smoothed his hand over what he had landed on. “This is not the exact spell, but it is an example of something similar,” he explained. “If you craft a curse with three items, you need those three items to take that same curse apart. This spell here appears simple: it requires a foci, a cold flame, and the person who the spell will be cast on. If one wanted to undo this spell, they would need that person to return to them, the same foci in their possession, and a cold flame burning from the same enchanted candle.”

“So,” Rapunzel said carefully, “if we want to break this curse on my father and the others, we need to know how it was created, and gather the items that were used?”

Xavier nodded, and a grim silence settled over them. Arianna spoke softly. “There’s no other way?”

“Perhaps there is,” he granted. “Without knowing the exact spell, we cannot be sure. But what we can do is determine what components we may need from what we already know. We know that Varian is the target. Perhaps he is the person you will need in order to undo the spell.”

Rapunzel slid the book around to face her, tracing her fingers over the small, curling handwriting inside. “If Varian is the person the spell is after, then we need… a foci, at least? Don’t all spells require one?”

Arianna answered before Xavier could. “Yes, they do,” she confirmed. “I remember learning this as a girl. Foci are items that anchor the magic in place, like the stone that controlled the Brotherhood.”

“Or a teapot that turns people into birds,” Rapunzel agreed. “Once they both smashed, the spell was broken. But how do we find it, if it could be anything?”

“It is not necessarily a matter of  _ where, _ but of  _ who,” _ Xavier said. “Who would gain from the king of Corona believing Varian was still his enemy?”

In the low candlelight, the puzzle lock glinted up at them, answering the question. 

“The Saporian Separatists,” Rapunzel voiced. “We were never able to find and capture Andrew and the others after they took Varian the last time.”

Xavier regarded her with a strange, weighted look. Rapunzel blinked back at him, unsure how to read his reaction. When the blacksmith turned a questioning gaze toward her mother, and the Queen nodded solemnly, Rapunzel felt her chest tighten.

“What,” she asked, a touch of dread creeping into her voice. 

Xavier drew a deep breath and stood from his stool. He turned toward the dark fireplace on the far wall, the one that led down to his cellar.

“It may be more complicated than that, Princess.”

-

“Hold  _ still,” _ Eugene instructed for the third time, talking around the small pair of scissors he had between his teeth. “I’m not the best at this to begin with and you are  _ not _ helping.”

Varian sat cross-legged in front of him, holding his left arm up with his hand pointed to the ceiling. While Eugene carefully worked stitches across the wound, Varian kept his eyes closed tight and his face turned away, wincing with each push of the needle.

Identical twin wounds made ugly lines across the backs of Varian’s forearms where the king’s sword had sliced across them. It had taken too many strips of fabric to clean the blood up, tacky and dried as it was, and between them, a bowl of red water sloshed hypnotically in the light of the lantern. Varian’s right arm had already received this treatment, cleaned and medicated and stitched up, with bandages wrapped tightly to keep it from getting dirty again. He held it close, a slight tremor in his shoulders.

Eugene tied off the last stitch and took the scissors from his mouth to clip off the excess. When he lowered his hands to wipe the small smudges of red off of them, Varian reached for the bottle of swill and took another swig, grimacing with his entire body at the revolting taste and ensuing burn down his throat.

Still, it helped his nerves, and seemed to be helping the pain, if only a little. 

“I think,” Eugene ventured, reaching for the roll of bandages to his right, “that we should lie low here for a few days. Rapunzel will get this all sorted out, and we’ll be back in our own beds before we know it.”

Varian finally looked directly at him. “You think Rapunzel only needs a few days to undo a Saporian curse and set everything back to rights?”

“Even that might be generous,” Eugene defended. “There’s no limit to what that woman can do.” He pressed some gauze carefully to the fresh stitches on Varian’s arm, making the alchemist wince. “Hold this here,” he instructed, before beginning to wrap it in place with the bandage.

“I’m not arguing with that,” Varian replied quietly. “But whatever that curse is, we still don’t know how far it spread, or how long it might last, or if it  _ can _ be undone. What if it’s permanent? What if it spreads and infects everyone, and the entire kingdom falls under the spell, and I have to leave Corona forever? What if the only way to break the curse is for the king to kill me? What if--”

“Hey, woah, okay. Are the hypotheticals helping your anxiety right now?”

“Is not knowing helping your’s?” Varian cut back, not missing a beat. Eugene sighed and tied off the bandages before pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“You’re right. We don’t know what’s going on. All we know is that right now, you’re in danger, and I told Rapunzel I’d keep you safe. And if that means hiding in this lavish estate,” he gestured around the rotting mill, “than that’s what we’ll do. We’ll figure this out, Varian.”

The alchemist fell quiet, guilt overcoming him. Eugene wasn’t being unreasonable, and he didn’t have any more answers than Varian did. In fact, Varian realized, he may have fewer. The memory of Xavier’s cellar surface in his mind, weapons as far as his small glowing vial could reveal.

“Eugene, I need to tell you something.” Varian looked down to compose himself and regretted it immediately when his eyes landed on the bloody rags and filthy bowl of water between them. His eyes sprang up and away toward the ceiling as a fresh wave of nausea rolled through him, prompting Eugene to climb to his feet and gather the offending materials for disposal. 

“Hold that thought,” the man requested, walking away from the glow of the lantern. Varian heard him spill out the contents of the bowl through a gap in the floor into the creek below, but did not turn to look. The thought of his blood flowing down the creek was deeply unsettling.

Eugene was halfway back across the room, recently relieved of his grim burden, when the door to the old mill jolted and began to open.

Varian was on his feet in an instant, only a second behind where his heart had leapt into his throat. Eugene’s sword was drawn, and he closed the distance between them in three big strides before positioning himself between Varian and the door. 

When it opened, it was not guards that spilled through, but a single individual. In the dull light of their lantern, it was immediately apparent that he was old, tall, and on hard times. By the look of him, Varian wondered if he’d ever  _ not _ been on hard times.

Eugene’s sword dipped a fraction. He squinted into the darkness as if trying to place the man. After a moment of silent tension, he spoke.

“Stubs?” Eugene asked, his sword lowering another few inches. “Is that you?”

The man stepped inside and pushed the door shut behind him. This did nothing to settle Varian’s nerves, but the stranger did not approach. He only nodded, lingering by the door.

“What the  _ hell _ are you doing here, Stubs?” With clear reluctance, Eugene slid his sword back into the sheath on his hip, but did not let go of the hilt. “You scared us half to death!”

Rather than reply, the man began to gesture. His hands moved in quick precise patterns, exaggerated so as to be better seen in the dark. Eugene followed them closely. 

“Fine,” Eugene replied, “but just until the rain lets up. We were here first.”

When he glanced back at Varian, Eugene didn’t look at all happy. “This is Stubs. He’s going to wait out the rain in here,” he explained, as if it needed translating. Varian wanted to ask for more information, wanted even to protest, but with the newcomer in earshot, he didn’t have the courage. When he looked back toward Stubs, the man was staring at him.

Varian shrank back, immediately and deeply uncomfortable. 

Stubs made a few specific gestures and pointed at Varian.

“None of your business,” Eugene replied, a sharp warning in his words.

The man made a few more gestures, pointing from Eugene to himself to Varian before making a crude movement with his hips and grinning. Varian didn’t need to know what the signs meant to understand the question, and he tensed even further, stepping behind Eugene directly. The captain of the guard pulled his sword a few inches back out of the sheath in warning.

“You can either stay over there, stare at the wall, and leave promptly when the rain passes, or you can leave now with even fewer extremities than you already have,” Eugene warned. Stubs merely held up his hands, still smiling, before walking casually toward an old barrel and sitting down. From his rucksack, the man withdrew a harmonica that flashed dimly in the faint lantern light, and began to blow a reedy, tuneless little song. 

Eugene turned back to Varian, but his eyes lingered suspiciously on Stubs as he did so. “Just stay behind me,” he whispered. “Stubs is useless in a fight, so I doubt he’ll try anything. The rain should let up soon.”

“Should we go,” Varian whispered back. He was exhausted and sore, but despite all they had been through that day, the arrival of the old man prompted a kind of fear Varian couldn’t name. 

Eugene didn’t answer right away. Above their heads, the rain was lessening slowly but surely. “Let’s sit tight,” he finally answered, guiding Varian back over to the trunk and the lantern. “He won’t be here long.”

“What if he tries to stay the night?”

“He won’t,” Eugene said, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. Varian understood the implication and took a careful breath. 

Time began to move again. Eugene produced some sort of hard tack from the trunk that Varian reluctantly accepted, and the two of them ate without a word while Stubs’s poor harmonica skills filled the dark corner of the mill. Varian never quite relaxed, a deep and wary unease sitting across the back of his neck the entire time. The rain continued uninterrupted for what felt like hours, easing off a bit only to come back harder. 

Wrapped in a thin blanket with his stomach full of warm mystery liquor and food, Varian began to feel his exhaustion catch up to him. It only grew heavier the longer they sat there, and it became more and more difficult to justify staying awake. With Eugene sitting watch, very much alert and prepared to respond to anything, Varian could convince himself that it was okay to rest. Only for a moment, he told himself. Only for a few minutes, and then he’d sit right back up and stay awake. There was an unknown man in their midst, after all.

Eventually, Eugene’s hand found its way to Varian’s shoulder. “You should try and sleep,” he suggested quietly, clearly having noticed Varian nodding off. “While you can.”

Varian did not need to be told twice. His fatigue overwhelmed him, made even more powerful by Eugene’s permission. Leaning carefully against the side of the trunk, Varian bundled the blanket tight around his shoulders and closed his eyes. 

He had no idea how much time passed, or if he properly fell asleep at such an uncomfortable angle or not. One minute he was trying to relax and drift off, and the next minute the rain had stopped, the harmonica was silent, and Eugene was nudging his shoulder carefully.

“Come on,” he prompted. “We need to move.”

Varian sat upright, startled by the announcement. He looked around blearily, but Stubs was gone. Pale early-morning light was creeping through the cracks of the old mill.

“Where did he go,” Varian asked, thinking for a disorienting moment than Stubs was somehow still in their midst. Eugene moved away, busying himself by packing up a kit with supplies from the trunk.

“He left about a half hour ago.”

Varian frowned. “What? Then why do we have to move?”

“Hand me that rope,” Eugene prompted quietly. Varian did so, but continued to stare at his companion, waiting for an answer. Only when the kit was fully packed and tied shut did Eugene sigh and lean back on his ankles. 

“Stubs used to run with the Baron, a long time ago,” Eugene explained quietly. “And as it turned out, he was the biggest rat in the game. He’d been selling secrets to everyone under the sun. The Baron would have had him killed, but to do so would’ve meant starting a war with his competitors, who had been protecting him. So, the Baron did the next best thing and cut his tongue out.”

Varian sat upright further, setting his jaw as if to protect his own tongue. “That’s why he didn’t speak.”

“And why everyone calls his ‘Stubs’. Listen, I know I said we could stay here for a few days, but I have no idea if he’s working for someone or not. For all we know, he knows about what’s going on in the capital and who you are, and he’s off ratting us out right now. We need to move.”

Varian felt anxiety begin to broil in his stomach, a queasy, hateful feeling. “Where else can we go?”

Eugene sighed. “I don’t know yet. But I think we need to be ready to fight, if it comes to it. There are lots of shady characters out here.”

He stood and hefted the bag onto his back before offering Varian a hand up. The alchemist accepted it, wincing and hissing in pain as the assistance pulled at his injured arms. Once on his feet, Varian adjusted the blanket over his shoulders like a cloak and wished he had his gloves to keep his fingers warm.

He looked down and away, mind racing for a solution. “We need to go to Old Corona, then,” he said quietly.

“Kid, if the Guard is going to go anywhere first, it’ll be there. There’s no way it’s safe.”

“Not the village,” Varian corrected quietly. He looked uncertainly up at his companion, his hands wrapping as tightly around the blanket as they could without pulling too much on his injuries. Eugene looked back at him with a raised eyebrow.

Varian took a careful breath. “We need to go see my mom.”

-

The man known as Stubs had left the old mill as soon as the rain let up, just as he’d promised. He walked with a bounce in his step and a grin on his face, mind filled with possibilities for how he might spend the reward money.

The boy had matched the description exactly. Rider would be a problem, but it wasn’t Stubs’s business to deal with him. That would be up to whoever went to collect.

With purpose, Stubs set out through the trees in the direction of Corona’s border, humming the same tuneless song he’d played throughout the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=KoTuk9UyQFq5G1z6KzPpKA
> 
> 1) "Just The Place For You" - The old mill  
> 2) "Dr Ford" - Rapunzel's research  
> 3) "Lily's Theme" - An unexpected visitor


	4. Gravediggers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eugene and Varian visit a grave. Ultimately, trouble catches up to them.

Varian had always liked fog. It made the world soft and quiet, a reassuring blanket of secrecy. The morning after their uncomfortable stay at the old mill, the forest was full of fog, dispersing daylight in a white haze. Trees vanished behind them in only a matter of yards, and they were able to follow the road more directly as a result. 

He knew that it was ideal for ambushes and muggings, and could tell that this was what Eugene was feeling, but Varian felt safer with the fog around them. Thieves could hide, but so could they. 

From the old mill, it was about three hours on foot to Old Corona. Varian spent it in quiet misery, damp and cold and exhausted, wondering how Eugene could be managing without any sleep at all. 

His arms ached. He was glad for the blood to be cleaned up, but after a night of relative rest, the muscles had stiffened and the wounds had grown painfully tender. Moving his wrists too much pulled on the stitches, sending sharp shocks of pain rocketing through his arms. How he was supposed to get anything done was beyond him if he couldn’t use his hands. 

“Listen, Varian,” Eugene said, interrupting the silence that had been dogging them for over an hour. Varian turned his gaze up to him, relieved for the distraction, but Eugene’s expression wasn’t encouraging. “I’ve been thinking, and… I don’t think it’s a good idea to get your father involved in this.”

Varian blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s like this,” the man sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “your dad is a great warrior, and I know he’d do anything to keep you safe, but… Frederic is sort of… you know,  _ mad _ right now, and if he thinks you’re the enemy, and that Old Corona is helping you, it might put them at risk, even if we try to keep our visit a secret. Besides, I have no idea how we’d get to your house if there are as many guards as I think there’ll be.”

Varian stared hard at the ground as Eugene spoke. Truth be told, he’d had the same fears, but had been hoping they were the result of anxiety rather than reasonable concern. 

He opened his mouth to reply only to shut it again. What counter argument did he have? ‘I want my dad’ wasn’t good enough, despite all that was going on. Just because Varian needed the certainty of his father’s protection didn’t mean it was fair to put the village in danger, if Frederic was really that far gone. Besides, in spite of his childish need to hide behind his dad, was Quirin even capable of standing up to the Crown? Was he _ willing _ to do that, or would the fact that he hadn’t seen Frederic go berserk prevent him from responding appropriately to the threat that hunted them?

“Do you think the king  _ would _ take it out on Old Corona,” Varian asked quietly.

Eugene pulled a face, clearly communicating that this was an uncomfortable subject for him. “I mean, that  _ is _ where you took the queen when you kidnapped her. And he did seem pretty convinced that that’s what’s currently going on.”

Varian lowered his eyes to the ground, his shoulders dropping. Embarrassment and shame rolled in like a storm front and he let it come, familiar as it was now. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “I guess you’re right.”

“Hey,” Eugene began, reaching for some attempt at placating Varian’s mood, but before he could say anything more, Varian looked up and faltered mid-step. 

They were at the edge of a hazelnut grove. Twisting old trees coated in moss were spread out in an even grid for several acres beneath a lush spring-green canopy. The fog was still hanging around them, giving the illusion that the grove went on forever. 

“I know this place,” he said, shedding the heavy mood and standing up straighter, surprise and relief dawning on him. “It’s ours!”

“It’s what now,” Eugene asked flatly, not following.

“This land belonged to my mom,” Varian explained, starting forward again into the trees with the same confidence he might enter his own house with. His mental map rolled out like a carpet, filling in all the foggy gaps. He knew exactly where he was now, and exactly where to go. “We’re almost there!”

This seemed to buoy Eugene’s mood considerably, and he let the heavy subject drop. He looked around with fresh eyes, seeing the grove through an unexpected new lens. That it belonged to Varian’s family seemed to make the trees immediately interesting to him. 

“These trees look older than Old Lady Crowley,” he said.

“They are,” Varian answered easily. “My grandfather planted them when he wasn’t much older than me. My mom used to tell me that she would bury all sorts of things out here for safe keeping, but I think I dug them all up with her when I was little. Mostly just little keepsakes. Did you know that Hazelnut trees are monoecious? A single tree can produce male and female flowers.”

Eugene did something elaborate with his eyebrows to let Varian know that the fact was simultaneously new to him and very uninteresting. Varian stuck his tongue in response. 

“It means they’re wind pollinators and don’t need animals to do it for them,  _ Fitzherbert. _ Which is  _ interesting.” _

“Oh, I’m riveted. This is my ‘riveted’ face.”

Varian looked at him dryly. “I can stop making you that anti-wrinkle ointment, you know.”

Eugene barked out a single laugh, loud and clear. “Ha! So that’s how it is, huh? Fine! My skin is perfect without the help!”

It was Varian’s turn to pull a face, his lips thinning and his eyebrows raising as if to say  _ is it, though? _

“Oh, just lead the way, you little know-it-all,” Eugene laughed, swatting at him without actually making contact. “Glad to see it takes more than the last twenty-for hours to get you to stop spouting facts and sass.”

“Talk to me after another twenty-four and see how it’s affecting me then,” Varian answered easily, waving Eugene’s playful insults away. “Come on. It’s not much farther.”

-

As far as Eugene was concerned, graveyards held little appeal. They were at best boring, and at worst creepy as all sin. With the exception of one time in his teens when he had hidden out in a crypt after a con gone wrong, he spent as little time in them as possible, and thought of them even less.

So it struck him as strange that Varian’s anxiety seemed to vanish as soon as they passed the first headstone.

The graveyard outside of Old Corona was less of a yard and more of a creative sprawl, a lightly-forested area with tall swaying grass and the quiet music of birds in the trees. The lack of uniformity made it strangely peaceful, but knowing there were bodies under the ground was still unnerving.

Varian passed through it with purpose, knowing exactly where he was going. Eugene wondered how many times Varian had walked this exact path, following a narrow dirt trail through the trees like a deer retracing it’s steps to water. He led the two of them to a grassy knoll, on top of which stood a sprawling old tree. It’s root system reached down the side of the hill, occasionally offering a solid step where a root stuck out of the ground. 

“She’s up here,” Varian said, encouraging Eugene up the side of the hill. 

He had expected that the kid might be somber, or reserved. Wasn’t that how people behaved when they visited the grave of a dead loved one? Weren’t they supposed to wistfully lay flowers against the stone and step back, lost in a swirl of memories?

And yet, Varian moved with a bounce to his step that was in sharp contrast to all they’d recently been through. He seemed happy to be back, and when they crested the hill and came upon the stone that marked his mother’s grave, he had a smile on his face.

Eugene came to a stop beside him, and took it in.

The old tree was a beautiful twisting thing, blossoms still clinging to the tips of it’s branches where leaves hadn’t pushed through yet. The grave was marked with a flat dark headstone that leaned against the tree, rough-hewn around the edges and engraved with a name, a set of dates, and the words  _ “Ad astra per aspera”. _

But it wasn’t the headstone or the tree that stood out the most. That honor went to all the flowers, old and fresh, and all the dozens of trinkets and gadgets that had been placed around the grave like a shrine. Eugene could recognize them all as Varian’s handiwork, but some of them were so rudimentary and simple that it was clear he’d made them as a child. 

Varian cleared his throat. “This is my mom,” he said. Eugene realized belatedly that it was an introduction.

“Oh. Uh. Hello, ma’am.”

Varian laughed, rubbing carefully at his bandages. They lapsed into silence, both of them gazing at the scene. After everything they had been through, it was strange to have such a peaceful, still moment.

Eugene had grown up thinking the worst of his parents. Some of the other children at the orphanage had told themselves elaborate stories about what adventures their parents were away on, but Eugene had never bought into it. He used to lie awake at night thinking about the whores and beggars and thieves in the streets and wonder if his mother or father was among them, or if they were six feet below the earth. 

He had no frame of reference for what Varian’s childhood must have been like, to know a parent and then lose her. To have the opportunity to mourn properly, to have a place to visit to remember her by. At least for Eugene, he could let the absence of his parents inspire resentment. He didn’t have to mourn people who had abandoned him. But to have a parent and lose them, especially so young… it was a kind of pain he hadn’t thought about. He’d only considered the reverse, when he and Rapunzel talked about her parents, and how she’d been stolen from them.

A sense of protectiveness surged within him. Varian carried a lot of his anxieties and sorrows on his own, even if he was bad at hiding them. Eugene had learned to spot them, to try and chase them away with humor and comfort, but Varian never came to him directly for help. Or anyone, for that matter. He kept his woes to himself until someone took them out of his hands. Had he mourned his mother’s death the same way?

Before he could think about it, Eugene wrapped his arm around Varian’s shoulders and pulled him into a side hug. He felt Varian look up at him, but he didn’t return it. 

“... Eugene? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he responded quickly, giving Varian one last squeeze before letting him go. Eugene smoothed his hands over his shirt to straighten it and cleared his throat. “Yeah, just some allergies. Pollen makes my eyes water a bit, that’s all.”

Varian was looking up at him with a sad, sincere smile. He gracefully ignored the opportunity to poke fun at him.

“Well, anyway,” the alchemist said instead, stepping away from Eugene toward the tree, “my mom was the one who introduced me to alchemy and science, and after she died, I still wanted to show her my inventions, so I would leave her things I was working on. When I got older, it became a sort of habit to leave things out here for safe keeping.”

He explained himself as he stepped up to the side of the tree and ran his hands over the bark, wincing at the pain it caused his injuries to flex his wrists. Carefully, he hooked his fingers into a crevice in the bark, and pulled. To Eugene’s surprise, it opened like a panel, revealing a hollow inside. 

Varian reached in and felt around. “Remember how I said my mom used to bury things in the hazelnut grove? I guess I learned it from her. My dad says Ruddigar and I are perfect for each other, always squirreling things away.”

Whatever he was looking for, Varian’s smile widened when he found it. He withdrew his arm, revealing a bag almost identical to his usual backpack.

“Hey, kid, look at that!” Eugene grinned widely, unable to hide how impressed he was. “That’s great!”

Varian smiled confidently and pushed the panel closed, hiding the hollow from view once more. “Yeah, well, what can I say. Better safe than sorry.”

He pulled the bag onto his back and adjusted the weight until he was comfortable. His eyes moved back to the grave, and a hesitance came over him, quick on the tails of their good mood. He shifted, a little uncomfortable. “Hey, Eugene? Do you think I could, uh. Have a few minutes with my mom? Before we go?”

Eugene blinked, and then shook himself out of his confusion. “Oh, yeah. Sure, Varian, of course. Actually, I was thinking… Well, we should scope out Old Corona and try to see how things are looking. And given how much heat is on you right now, maybe it’s better if I just go take a look? You can stay here with your mom, and I’ll be right back. Sound fair?”

He watched as his younger companion turned this over in his mind, looking at first resistant to being left out, and then relieved at the idea of not being caught by the royal guard. Varian offered him a quick nod. “Okay. You’ll, um. Be quick?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Eugene insisted. “We’re not far from the village, and I’ll only take a look. I’ll be right back.”

Varian reached again for his bandages and gave his wrist a very tentative squeeze. “Okay, yeah.”

“Fifteen minutes,” Eugene repeated, pointing at Varian as he began to back up. “Stay right here.”

Varian saluted him, grinning despite himself. Eugene turned and started down the hill at a quick clip. He would go right there and come right back.

Easy.

-

“Hey mom.”

Varian eased himself onto the grass in front of his mother’s grave, his body stiff and sore. Where was he supposed to start?

“Back again with another ridiculous problem,” he muttered, looking down at his bandages. They would have to be changed soon. He sighed. “There’s some sort of curse? And the king thinks that it’s still… you know, the  _ bad time. _ And he wants me dead, I think, but he might not? Very unclear. I can’t go home to see dad either way, so, if he stops by... “

Varian hummed a short note, before patting as his pockets. He found a small glow vial and leaned forward to set it down at the base of the stone. “There. He’ll know I was here. Can you, uh. Look out for him? He’s going to be really upset that I didn’t go to him for help when this is all over.” Varian winced, realizing exactly how true that was. “But I can’t risk putting him in danger.”

Unspoken was the word ‘ _ again’. _ He wasn’t sure he could admit it out loud, but he’d always felt that his mom knew what he meant, even if he didn’t say it. 

“So anyway, Eugene is with me. He and Rapunzel and Lance were the ones that rescued me from Zhan Tiri last year, so... I think I’m in pretty good hands.”

Varian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had this game he’d play whenever he visited his mom, where he’d try to imagine what she’d say. Not her voice--he’d lost the memory of that a long time ago. But her manner of speaking, the words she would use, the way she would respond to things… he could still hear it, if he focused.

_ What, were the other two busy, _ he imagined her asking. He could see the smile on her face, her freckles moving with her cheeks. 

“You’d really like him,” Varian said, so quietly he nearly whispered it. “Rapunzel too.”

He lapsed into a kind of tired silence that he only ever really found sitting at his mother’s grave. Even with Eugene gone, he didn’t feel alone. Not so long as his mom was there.

Somewhere else in the graveyard, a branch snapped. Varian startled, eyes opening wide and back straightening. He turned and looked down the hill, scanning the trees for whatever made the sound. Had the royal guard been staking out the graveyard, waiting for him to return? How would they even know it was out here?

For a moment, nothing happened. Varian stayed very still, watching the tall grass and branches sway in a quiet breeze. His heart pounded. Maybe it was Eugene. Maybe he’d gotten lost on his way back. Had it already been fifteen minutes?

And then a man stepped out from behind a clump of aspen trees, down at the bottom of the hill. He was tall and muscle-bound, with thin red hair and an eyepatch. 

Varian was on his feet in an instant, adrenaline bursting into his system. He recognized the man before he could think of his name, and his instincts all screamed  _ run. _

That’s when a voice behind him spoke up. “Going somewhere?”

Varian spun to find the second Stabbington brother standing directly behind him. Before he could scramble out of reach, the brute snared his arm and hauled him forward, spinning him around. A huge bicep curling around Varian’s neck and pinning him against the man’s chest.

“Well now,” the other brother said as he approached up the hill, a cruel grin spreading his lips, “I’ll be damned. Stubs  _ wasn’t _ lying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the last of the quiet chapters for a while! 
> 
> Can you smell that? That action and hurt/comfort I've got brewing in the next chapter? Take a good whiff, lads.
> 
> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=-oSV5o38RIeucoI-Pa8gng
> 
> 1) "Song For Jesse" - Traveling in the fog  
> 2) "Stuff We Did" - Mom's grave  
> 3) "Escape From The Fade" - The Stabbingtons attack


	5. The Little Rat Has Some Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Awesome faces off against the Stabbingtons. Unexpectedly, it gives them direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A month of quarantine has got my internal battery down to about 20%, so your mileage may vary with the quality of this chapter. But uh, ever onward, etc etc
> 
> Also, please please please go check out this amazing fanart by @xsheerak on instagram!!! I'm losing my mind!!!! : https://www.instagram.com/p/B-lHaC7lhOk/?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet
> 
> Thank you my dude!!

Varian knew about the Stabbingtons the same way that a bystander knows about a parade. Their wanted posters had been everywhere during his childhood, usually side by side with those depicting Flynn Rider. In recent years, he’d come to know them through stories from his friends, usually painting the pair of twins as brutish and incompetent. But despite his time in prison, Varian had never actually  _ met _ the two of them.

Having one of their meaty arms wrapped around his windpipe was not how he wanted to go about introductions. 

“Scream, and the entire guard will come running,” the brother with the eyepatch said. The other twin--Sideburns?--tightened his arm around Varian’s neck, making the boy wheeze for air.

Eyepatch (Patches? Patchie? What the hell had Eugene called him?) reached the top of the hill and regarded Varian like he was some inconvenient chore. “I’m a little disappointed, Brother. I was expecting Rider to be here.”

“He’ll come for the kid,” the other twin replied. Varian could feel his voice rumbling through his great chest against his back.

Eyepatch leaned forward until his face was only a few inches from Varian’s. “Will he, now? And what makes  _ you _ so special that the great Flynn Rider wouldn’t abandon you?”

Varian tried to reply, but the arm around his neck was too tight. His attempt at saying something must have amused Eyepatch though, because he glanced up at his brother with a cruel grin and nodded. The arm around Varian’s neck loosened enough for him to speak.

“Your breath is terrible,” Varian managed. 

The smile on Eyepatch’s face only widened, a cruel curve that revealed yellowed, uneven teeth. “Aw, the little rat has some bite to him, after all. Tell me something kid,” he asked, standing upright and leering down at Varian from above, “how will that defiant tongue hold up when King Trevor starts breaking bones to get what he wants?”

Varian’s glare faltered with surprise.

“Something tells me you’ll cave pretty damn quickly,” Eyepatch speculated. When Varian only looked up at him with open confusion, the man’s smile sharpened. He was enjoying this, the way that all of the bullies Varian had ever known enjoyed power. The man leaned forward again, right into Varian’s face. “You should be flattered. The good king of Equis put a huge bounty on you. You must really be something special.”

_ King Trevor, looming over him at a peace summit three months prior. The seal of Equis stamped on the plans for a trebuchet in the forge’s cellar. Xavier’s grim implication of brewing conflict. _

Varian was good at solving puzzles. The pieces slid into place in his mind the same way that they had when he’d solved the lock on that awful box back in the castle library, just before the curse had been unleashed. 

Suddenly, the Stabbingtons didn’t seem like that big of a concern.

With all the strength he could muster, Varian brought his knee up into Eyepatch’s groin, catching the man completely off guard. As the one brother keeled forward, Varian pushed his chin down and sank his teeth into the other brother’s arm,  _ hard. _

He was released almost instantly, surprise and pain leaving both of the Stabbingtons momentarily stunned. Varian shoved away from them, twisting to bolt in the direction that Eugene had gone. 

Sideburns recovered much faster than his brother. With a shout of surprised anger, he grabbed Varian’s backpack. It was a light hold, and with Varian’s momentum, rather than stopping the boy it merely pulled the bag off of his back and made him stumble.

Varian regained his footing easily enough, pivoting to see if he could salvage his bag as it fell from his shoulders. With a Stabbington hot on his heels, however, he immediately decided against it. Heart hammering, Varian sped down the far slope of the knoll toward the trees. Should he call out for Eugene? Was Eyepatch right about it alerting the guards in Old Corona if he yelled? Was he totally opposed to guards showing up if it meant the Stabbingtons wouldn’t murder him for what he’d just done?

He could hear Sideburns give chase down the hill. He pumped his legs harder.

-

Old Corona was the textbook definition of a military occupation. It had only taken Eugene a few minutes of observing the village from the trees to realize that they had no feasible chance of getting in. Not unless they wanted to be apprehended within the first three minutes of their visit.

Eugene ran a hand down his face and groaned quietly, all optimistic notions of a warm bed and a bath gone from his mind. It was too great of a risk to even salvage supplies, nevermind getting Quirin involved. Their best bet was to continue on and hope to find rural farm where they could get more provisions and maybe catch some sleep. It had been an age since he’d spent the night sleeping on damp hay in a stranger's barn.

He was making his way back through the trees to the graveyard, thinking about how the fog had cleared up to reveal such a nice sunny day, when he heard it.

“Eugene,” Varian’s voice called, ratcheted with panic. Through the trees, the alchemist was running toward him as fast as he could, stumbling over roots and around fallen logs. Eugene’s eyes widened--had the guards gone to the graveyard? Had they been waiting there? What was going on--

Then he spotted the other person, a hulking man with red hair and sideburns, close on Varian’s heels. 

“What the fu-” he started, interrupted as Varian reached him and skidded over the dirt to a stop just behind Eugene’s back.

“Stabbingtons,” the boy explained, heaving for air and pointing back at Burnsie, who looked just as surprised to see Eugene and Eugene felt to see him.

But the Stabbington brother did not slow down, and before Eugene could get steamrolled, he turned and hauled Varian to the side out of the way. Burnside grabbed at them, but stumbled a few yards onward before he managed to redirect his own momentum.

“What the hell, kid?! I was only gone for ten minutes!” Eugene drew his sword, dropping into a combat-ready position. “How are the  _ Stabbingtons _ here?”

Varian, never especially athletic, was struggling to catch his breath behind Eugene. “Just showed up-- working for Trevor-- Right about Stubs--”

“What?!” Eugene looked wildly over his shoulder at Varian before directing his full attention at Burnsie, who drew a knife from his belt and began circling. Eugene did not miss the bloody bite mark on his arm.

“They’re working for King Trevor and you were right about Stubs,” Varian yelled back, exasperated. 

“King Trevor? The weasley little prick who runs Equis?” Burnsie made a lunge, swiping his knife out at Eugene, who parried it away with his sword.  _ “He’s _ involved now? Good god, Varian, is there anyone who  _ isn’t _ trying to kidnap you?”

“Shut up, Rider,” Burnsie snarled, taking another slash at him. Eugene blocked it with the same ease he’d blocked the last one with. 

“I need my backpack,” Varian said, throwing more oil on the fire of confusion that was raging in Eugene’s head. He twisted to ask what Varian meant, but the kid was already running back the way he’d come toward the graveyard.

“Wait-- Damnit, Varian!” Unable to stop the kid and fight off a Stabbington at the same time, Eugene groaned and turned his focus onto Burnsie, who was coming at him with a ferocity he had come to expect from the twins. 

So much for his nice, sunny day.

-

It made perfect sense. The Saporians didn’t have the pull to get a gift to the king and queen of Corona on their own. They needed a benefactor just like they did back when Zhan Tiri was skulking about. Now that that awful demon was gone, they’d found an allegiance more grounded in politics. Varian  _ knew _ he recognized that trebuchet design: it shared so many similarities to the way the Saporians built their air balloon engines. They must have offered old Saporian schematics in exchange for Trevor’s favor in getting that curse into the castle.

It didn’t explain why they reset King Frederic’s mental clock back to when Varian had kidnapped the queen. It didn’t explain why the curse had made Frederic so violent, either. If the Stabbingtons were to be believed, and Trevor wanted Varian to work for him, then what was the point in having Frederic kill him?

Varian wanted nothing more than to get to the bottom of it, but behind him, Eugene was fighting one of the Stabbingtons, and in front of him, the other one was stumbling awkwardly down the hill to try and catch up. Between Varian and Eyepatch, his backpack lay in the grass, its alchemical tools spread out at random where they’d fallen. 

He pushed himself harder and skid to a stop beside the backpack. Eyepatch was only a few yards away, barrelling toward him with malice in his eyes and one hand still cupping his groin in pain.

“You little shit,” the man snarled, “I’m going to break your legs and make you  _ walk _ to the border!”

Varian grabbed up a pink ball and chucked it at the brute with every intention of trapping him in goo, but the man swatted it away with a well-aimed backhand, and it exploded mid-air, sending pink foam slopping onto the ground to their right. Varian reached for another alchemy bomb, closed his hands around a blue one, lifted his head to try and aim--

Eyepatch’s foot connected with his ribs, flattening the air from his lungs and sending Varian rolling. The bomb fell from his hand; Eyepatch pressed his knee down on Varian’s chest and pinned him painfully to the ground, his huge calloused hand grabbing Varian by the collar.

Varian writhed to try and get out from under the knee, gasping to get air into his lungs. Eyepatch’s fist connected hard with Varian’s cheekbone, and stars erupted across his vision.

The world went momentarily blank. When his sight began to return, it was full of static, wavering in and out. He could see what he thought might be a blue alchemy bomb lying just out of his reach, but with one eye closed and his depth perception nonexistent, it could also be lying several yards away. 

“Rider,” Eyepatch bellowed, crouched over Varian with his balled fist held above the teenager like a threat, “drop the sword!”

Varian was looking in the opposite direction. He had no idea of Eugene listened, but the fist did not come down on him again, so maybe he did. With the world spinning and tilting beneath him, Varian reached numbly for the blue ball. 

“Here’s how this is gunna go,” Eyepatch was saying, his unyielding fist holding tight to Varian’s shirt. “We’re gunna take this brat to the border, and sell him off to Trevor. And  _ you _ are gunna dig a shallow grave for yourself right here.”

“Not exactly equitable,” Varian heard Eugene say. His fingers pawed at the grass, reaching, reaching--only inches, only  _ centimeters-- _

“Oh, you’ll do it. Or I’ll make you watch as I torture your little friend here for as long as it takes to get you to comply.”

Varian’s fingers brushed the ball--he managed to roll it just a little, just barely closer, just enough to--

He grabbed it, and swung it up at Eyepatch’s head in one clean strike. The ball exploded against the man’s ear, sending glittery blue dust everywhere and making Eyepatch rear back in surprise. He let go of Varian’s shirt and swat at his own face, trying to clear the powder as it rapidly grew colder and colder, freezing onto his skin and shirt. 

“What the--” Eyepatch burst, and Varian rolled out from underneath him, stumbled to his feet, and backed up as much as he could. 

Across the clearing, Eugene grabbed up his sword and brought the hilt of it into the other twin’s temple, quick as a whip. The man hit the ground in one loud unconscious  _ thud. _

“Get it off,” Eyepatch was howling, clawing at the ice on his face. Varian stood there, too stunned to look away as Eugene surged forward and brought a punch crashing into the man’s face, delivering him the same fate that had just befallen his brother.

And just like that, both of the Stabbingtons were unconscious on the ground, leaving Varian and Eugene standing in stunned silence.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, Eugene took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. 

“I would like to request that for the next forty-eight hours, you make a conscious effort to  _ not _ get kidnapped.”

Varian stared down at Eyepatch and held his hand against his smarting cheek. “I think that’s a fair request.”

“You wanna tell me how this happened in the ten minutes I was gone?”

Varian looked up at him. In the distance, the sounds of shouting could be heard, growing steadily closer. 

The royal guard.

“Oh,” Eugene groaned, “you have  _ got _ to be  _ kidding me.” _

Varian bent and scooped up his backpack, sweeping gadgets back into it as he went. “We need to get to the border,” he said quickly, standing upright and wincing at the pain in his ribs where Eyepatch had kicked him. 

Eugene spread his arms out to show how absurd this all was. “Do I get an explanation as to why?”

“On the way,” Varian agreed quickly, as the two of them started toward the trees at pace. “I think we have to stop a war.”

They moved into a run, the clearing and the unconscious Stabbingtons vanishing behind them. Eugene turned to look at him with bewilderment clear on his face. “Oh,” he said, a laugh bubbling up that was only slightly crazed, “Just a regular day for Team Awesome! Anything else, Varian?!”

“No, that’s about it for now!”

“Oh, good! Easy peasy!”

As they ran, the sound of the approaching guard began to grow distant. Varian set his jaw and surged to keep up with Eugene. 

They had been running for almost two days without any clear idea of what to do. Now, suddenly, Varian was starting to see next steps forming in his mind. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed structure until he had it, and he wasn’t about to let it go. Absurdly, it occurred to him that the Stabbingtons ambushing him was the first productive thing to have happened to them since they’d fled the castle.

Graciously, Eugene did not look at him like he was insane when Varian laughed.

-

“So, King Trevor makes a deal with the Saporians, they curse Frederic, the Stabbingtons come after you for the bounty, and we all go to war. Am I following, so far?”

Eugene was looking at him with skepticism clear on his face. They were sitting beneath an old stone bridge, both of them perched on river rocks. A few feet shy from where they sat, a creek babbled peacefully. They weren’t far from the border wall now, and a safe distance from Old Corona. They had lost the guards a long while back, but had opted to stay hidden from view to be safe.

“I think Trevor wants a war, but knows he can’t compete with Corona. You remember at that peace summit, how he was asking me all about the automatons?” Varian broke a piece of hardtack in half and offered one side to Eugene, who took it reluctantly. 

“Yeah, there was nothing subtle about that. I remember bringing it up with Frederic not long after.”

“Well,” Varian continued, “Xavier had this schematic down in his cellar with all those weapons. It had Equis’s seal on it, only it was a Saporian design, I’m  _ sure _ of it. The thing is, the math was all wrong. They’d never be able to get that thing to work if they followed those designs.”

“So you think Trevor put out a bounty on you to get you to fix it for him,” Eugene concluded through a mouthful of food. “So why send a curse that makes Frederic want to kill you?”

Varian ran his hand through his hair and frowned down at the creek. “I don’t know. Maybe the Saporians double crossed him? Told him they were sending one kind of curse, when it was really another?”

“I would not put that past them,” Eugene agreed dryly. 

“But we need proof,” Varian insisted. “We need to know exactly what’s going on out there. Maybe Trevor has a way to break the curse.”

Eugene brushed his hands together to rid them of crumbs and swallowed the last bite of his food, nodding. “I’m not exactly best friends with the guy, but from what I know of King Trevor, he would want Frederic to be fully alert when he beats him. He’d want the defeat to be all-encompassing.”

Varian nodded. It was all the confirmation he needed. “So we go across the border and find out how to break the curse.”

He said it with confidence, but Eugene shook his head. “That’s  _ stupid _ dangerous, Varian,” he said. “We don’t even know where to begin.”

“What other choice do we have? We can’t go back to the castle, and we can’t just hide around in the woods and wait for Rapunzel to do this all by herself!”

“Varian,” Eugene sighed, “believe me, I know. But I told Rapunzel I would keep you  _ safe. _ Waltzing up to an invading army achieves the opposite of that.”

Despite himself, Varian felt his eyebrows pull upward in a desperate plea. “I’m not some helpless kid,” he insisted. “I know you’re trying to protect me, but I did just fine against the Stabbingtons back there! I fought against Zhan Tiri, I survived Andrew kidnapping me last year, I helped destroy the red rocks--Eugene, the  _ only _ way we’re going to get through this is if you trust me!”

Eugene was regarding him with a weighted expression, something that Varian couldn’t quite parse. “I know,” he answered. “Believe me, I’m fully aware of your capacity for heroics. And I  _ do _ trust you, it’s just… Damnit, kid, after last year, when we found you in the woods…”

Varian held his breath. Eugene was avoiding his eye, clearly lost in the memory. 

“You’re like a little brother to me,” he finished after a pause, sighing and leaning back. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

Varian looked down to his feet. For a moment, only the sound of the creek filled the space between them. 

_ “But,” _ Eugene said, breaking the silence, “if the only reason Equis hasn’t attacked Corona is because  _ you’re _ the royal engineer, and Trevor is afraid of you… Then I guess we’d better go show him just how scary you can be, huh?”

When Varian looked up, Eugene was smiling, something small and genuine, if not a little wary. Varian returned it. 

“Over the wall, then?”

Eugene sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes up to the heavens. “Yeah, fine, over the wall. But can it  _ please _ wait until morning? I could literally fall asleep right here.”

“Oh, god, yes. I’m so tired,” Varian laughed. “Any chance you have another old mill lying around nearby?”

Eugene smiled at him and wriggled his eyebrows. “That depends,” he said slyly. “What are your thoughts on sleeping in a barn?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=oeGoz-QGTbWx_c3fan9_MA
> 
> 1) "Abducted" - The Stabbingtons attack  
> 2) "Working in the Hospital" - Eugene asks Varian to not get kidnapped for at least 24 hours  
> 3) "Where to?" - Team Awesome agrees to go over the wall


	6. Out of the Frying Pan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Awesome finally has a plan. It goes sideways with predicable speed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dropping this chapter like a drive-by shooting...
> 
> PLEASE go check out this awesome fanart by @xsheerak on Instagram!!! Varian looks so small and scrawny with Frederic towering over him like that: https://www.instagram.com/p/B-lHaC7lhOk/ 
> 
> ALSO?? Dotty comin' in clutch with fanart of my favorite moment from the last chapter!! @dotty.d.art on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/p/B-mgedvFgjn/
> 
> Thank you both so much!! My heart just grew three sizes too big!!
> 
> Oh, and one more thing: as dorky as it is, I had to make myself a map to keep track of where these boys have been and where they're going. Did you know I couldn't find a single decent map of this stupid fantasy world? So I drew this up based on the supremely unhelpful map I COULD find. Do with it what you will: https://imgur.com/Q739j32
> 
> EDIT: Jesus, one more thing. I keep forgetting to add this. I drew something for this fic a while back: https://www.instagram.com/p/B-VRojjldYn/

Corona was bordered in the south by a great wall that ran from the eastern coast across to the foot of the Switchback Mountains in the west. It separated the kingdom’s forests and farmlands from those of its neighbors, and after a peace treaty was agreed upon several decades prior, no one officially patrolled it. It was an unsubtle but non-combative reminder that Corona’s lands were her own, and not to be encroached upon.

The wall was also a constant and ever-present part of Varian’s childhood, so much so that he rarely gave it a second thought. Children from his village played kickball against it, amatuer marksman used it as a backstop for target practice, and from time to time it saw graphitti ranging from artistic to cringe-worthy. The wall was as natural as a cliff face for the people of Old Corona. 

The only section of the wall that saw any direct attention for miles was the sluice gate. It was always open halfway, allowing for the river below to flow through the wall and onward toward the sea. The gate itself was an imposing metal thing, thick as the wall and operated by old mechanical means that Varian had always longed to upgrade. A decrepit wooden staircase led up to the operator’s tower on top of the wall. 

Getting to it had been easy, regardless of how many royal guardsmen patrolled Old Corona. After all, why would they need to patrol a small dirt path that led to the sluice gate? According to Eugene, the number of guards with clear eyes vastly outnumbered those with red eyes, and if it came down to it, he was certain he could convince those unaffected by the curse to help them.

It hadn’t been necessary, but Varian was grateful for it nonetheless. As they began to ascend the staircase, he felt the creep of paranoia across the back of his neck. The higher they climbed, the more visible they were from town. People may not be able to tell it was Varian and Eugene, but they’d see two people ascending the wall. Would they wonder why? Did it look suspicious? Would guards come to investigate?

Behind him, Eugene did not share the same concerns. “This is the single most rickety, alarming staircase I have ever had the misfortune of climbing,” he declared from somewhere behind Varian.

“Oh, sorry we’re not up to your very high standards, Captain Fitzherburt,” Varian replied, glancing once again toward the village. “We should be using our vast wealth as a  _ farming village _ to fix our infrastructure.”

“I know you’re being sarcastic,” Eugene deadpanned, “but it’s not the worst idea.”

No one from the village seemed to notice them. Distant as they were, it was entirely likely that no one was paying attention to the wall when there was already plenty of gossip to be had around the guards. Varian winced at the thought. His reputation in Old Corona was already paper-thin, barely reconstructed after all the good he’d tried to do to make up for the bad. Would this destroy all his hard work?

“It doesn’t matter,” Varian replied, after a pause stretched for too long between them. “There’s only one person that uses this staircase anyway.”

“Are they a super lightweight gymnast with no fear of splinters?”

A smile pulled at the corner of Varian’s mouth. “Not exactly.”

Several suspiciously-creaking steps later, they reached the top of the wall. The world beyond opened up before them, a beautiful sprawl of hills and forests and twisting rivers, awash with the pinks and greens of spring. Varian could feel his throat itch with the pollen that was swept over the top of the wall by the wind. 

To their left, the sluice gate roared with the narrow flow of water. A sense of queasiness overtook him at the thought of how high up they were, so he turned his focus instead toward the structure to their right.

There was nothing significant about it. It was made of the same old stones that the wall was, a simple square building with large gears exposed along the outer side of the wall. Varian had never seen them turn, since he’d never seen the gate closed. They were lightly rusted, warm in the sunlight of mid-day. 

Eugene stepped happily off of the staircase and adjusted his coat. “So… we just go down the other side?”

Varian shook his head. “There’s a lift,” he explained. “Not much of a border wall if people can just walk up one side and down the other. We need to ask the sluice operator to let us take the lift down.”

“Ah. This would be our mysterious stair master, yes?”

The alchemist took a deep breath, more to prepare himself than anything else. “She’s… listen, she’s extremely old, and  _ extremely _ far-sighted. She can spot a rider on horseback from miles away and identify his flag, but if you’re standing in front of her, she’s basically blind.”

Eugene glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “You see how that’s… discouraging. Yes?”

Varian sighed. “Just let me talk to her, okay?”

He stepped up to the door of the building and knocked a few times, trying to fast-track his emotional preparedness. Inside, the sound of something falling over was followed immediately by a string of curse words, and then another crash. Both Varian and Eugene winced in perfect synchronization.

After an uncertain pause, the door unlatched and flew open. Before them stood a small, withered old woman with a nose about as long as a pinkie finger.

“What do you want? Who is it?!” She waved a cane at both of them, causing them to dodge backward to avoid being struck. 

“Crowley, it’s me, it’s Varian,” the alchemist cried, his hands up to protect his face.

_ “Crowley?” _ Eugene repeated incredulously. 

The old woman swung the stick again. “Huh? Vairn? I don’t know a Vairn! What do you want?”

“Varian,” Varian repeated, sounding out each syllable. “Quirin’s son!”

The cane stopped flying back and forth through the air. The ancient woman squinted in his rough direction. “Quirin, you said? Quirin’s boy?”

“Yes.” Varian’s shoulders heaved with a sigh. “And the royal captain of the guard, Eugene Fitzherbert.”

“You’re the wizard,” the old woman clarified, ignoring Eugene’s introduction.

Tired, familiar frustration washed through him. Varian let it come and go, having learned long ago that there was no point correcting her. Against his every instinct, he sighed. “Yes. I’m the wizard.”

He could feel Eugene’s eyes on him, could feel the other muffle a snicker. 

“What does a wizard want at this time of night,” the old woman asked, stepping into the sunlight. 

“Do you still have those glasses I made for you,” Varian asked, dodging the question. He dropped his eyes to where the spectacles were tucked into the front of the old woman’s tunic. They were thick as bottle glass, magnifying the fabric of her shirt so thoroughly that they could see each individual fiber.

“Don’t need em,” Crowley cut back. “I can see just fine. What do you want, wizard?”

Varian set his jaw and took a deep breath. “We need to use the lift down to the other side of the wall.”

“What? Why?” The old woman crowed, her voice rough with age. She leaned forward, as if doing so would help her see Varian more clearly. She seemed completely unaware that Eugene was standing there beside them.

Varian glanced at him, but the man offered only a shrug. “Have you…” he cleared his throat. “Have you seen any signs of an invading force, on the other side of the wall?”

At this, Crowley leaned back, blinkingly dramatically. “An army, you say? No, wizard, no army. Equis has a hunting camp established six miles to the west, I would say no more than fifty strong and as many horses with them. It’s a garish uniform that they wear, isn’t it?”

Eugene looked nothing short of impressed, if not also about to laugh. Varian nodded, before remembering that Crowley would not see them. “That’s good to know,” he said honestly. “We have a message to run to them.”

“We, we, who is we? There is only a wizard at my door, foolish boy!”

Varian pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, rubbing at them in frustration. “Fine.  _ I _ need to go run a message to the hunting camp under the banner of Equis. Can I  _ please _ use the lift?”

Crowley considered his request for a moment. “Where is this message,” she asked, something smug in her voice like she was going to catch him in a lie. Varian sighed. 

“Right here, ma’am.” He held out his open, empty hands for her to squint at.

“I see. Very well,” the old woman decided, “I will let you use the lift. I will leave it down until I hear the bell, signaling your return.”

“Thank you,” Varian replied, shooting Eugene a warning look. The captain of the guard was struggling to keep a straight face. 

“I still don’t understand why you’re travelling so late,” the woman muttered, leading them into the house. It was a cluttered, unruly mess, with naturally-formed footpaths between all the piles of stuff. On the far side of the room, the machinery necessary to open and close the sluice gate sat untouched. 

“So she’s Old Lady Crowley’s sister?” Eugene asked, leaning in and keeping his voice low. Varian shushed him impatiently. 

The lift was a simple thing, with room only for a small party of four or five. Eugene stepped onto it without hesitation--Varian, with considerably more. Back inside, Crowley was reaching around blindly for the level just to her right. Both young men in the lift took a moment to deeply regret their decision to trust her.

“Good luck out there, wizard,” she called. “I’ll be watching from afar!”

-

Eugene had not been beyond the wall since their return to Corona over a year ago. It had been a whirlwind adventure, travelling for a year with Rapunzel and their companions. This was not to say that Eugene’s other trips outside of Corona had been dull; under the mask of Flynn Rider, he’d gotten himself into no end of trouble. But with Rapunzel at his side to get him out of it, the last trip had gone far more smoothly than he’d anticipated, all things considered.

Beside him now, occupying the space where Rapunzel had once stood, was Varian. The young man had pulled a compass for his bag and was watching as its arrow turned slowly north. 

“Six miles should take us about an hour and a half,” he reasoned. “If they have horses, we’ll need to be careful not to get caught on the way. They probably have scouts.”

It was a far cry from the carefree exuberance that Rapunzel had been thrumming with during her first outing beyond the wall. Then again, Eugene and Varian were not wandering into a beautiful unknown: they were walking knowingly toward a hostile enemy. 

“We’ll stay away from the road, then,” Eugene reasoned. “Easy.”

“Not easy,” Varian corrected. “We’re on the wrong side of the river. We need to get to the road in order to use the bridge.”

“An unceasing fount of optimism, as always, Varian,” Eugene groaned. “Fine. Lead the way. But keep your eyes clear. If we get caught less than a mile passed the wall, I’m going to have  _ words _ with you.”

-

Sometime during his stay in prison, Varian’s anxiety had become its own entity. 

Perhaps it was a defense mechanism, the way he had othered it from the rest of his psyche. It felt like a shadow lurking just outside of his peripheral vision, the ever-looming possibility that it would sneak up behind him and grab him. Sometimes, it looked like his father, trapped in amber. Sometimes, it looked like Queen Arianna, frightened in the corner of his lab, frightened of  _ him. _

Later, for a time, it looked like Zhan Tiri, her too-wide gash of a smile, her sallow skin and yellowed eyes. It looked like vines, twisting through the dirt and esnaring him, dragging him toward a gaping black maw at the base of a tree. It looked like Andrew, standing above him and sneering, raising a boot in the air and bringing it down on his head. 

Sometimes, it looked like Cassandra, though Varian had tried very hard to convince himself it didn’t need to look like her anymore.

In the afternoon sun on the way toward the Equisian hunting camp, his anxiety looked like those vines, slithering not too far behind them, following him no matter how hard he fought to stay calm.

He knew this was the right thing to do. He knew they had to gather information, find a way to break the curse, and get back to the capital before King Frederic did anything rash. The only way to do that was to go right to the source. Even if it meant walking into the hands of a man who was trying to have him abducted. Worse yet, even if it meant walking into range of Andrew, who was god knows where, stewing in cruel notions of revenge.

The closer they got to the camp, the less comfort Varian could find in Eugene being there. It wasn’t fair that he was in danger. It wasn’t fair that Varian had asked this of him. Fifty men had not seemed like a large force back on top of the wall. On ground level, with just the two of them, it seemed impossible.

But he couldn’t let on that he was scared. They had to do this; Eugene couldn’t see his fear and change his mind.

Ahead through a copse of trees, a flash of red caught his eye. It was moving erratically, and for a moment he thought surely it was a scout riding directly at them. But as they moved closer, it became more clear: a flag. 

They had arrived at the outskirts of the camp.

Eugene snared Varian’s elbow and pulled him down behind a large fallen log. He huddled close, peering over the top. Varian did the same, albeit with far less confidence. Through the trees, a few men dressed in the bright colors of Equis were pacing idly. They all carried gleaming halberds.

“Any plans coming to mind?” Eugene whispered, dropping back down behind the log. Varian sank onto his ankles beside him and looked down at the middle distance between them.

“We need to confront Trevor,” Varian muttered. “We’re assuming he ordered the curse be sent to Corona, so it’s likely he commissioned the Saporians to create it. Which means he would at  _ least _ be able to tell us what kind of curse it was, which would help us determine how to break it.”

“Do we even know that Trevor is here,” Eugene asked, his voice edged with doubt. “Listen, I agree that we need to figure out what’s going on here, but what if he’s back in Equis?”

Varian opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, a shrill voice cut through the trees. 

“I don’t want to hunt  _ quail, _ you incompetent moron, I want to hunt  _ bucks! _ What kind of king hunts tiny little birds?!”

Varian and Eugene looked at one another blankly for a moment, surprise passing between both of them. Then Eugene’s eyebrows flattened out. “Yeah, okay, he’s here. How do we get him alone?”

“He’s out hunting,” Varian reasoned. “He won’t be shadowed by fifty men just to hunt. We need to get him to move away from the few men that go with him.”

“Leave that to me,” Eugene said, confidence rolling off of him. “And you?”

“No one will be in his tent,” Varian said. “I can slip in the back and look for anything that could help.”

This did not seem to appeal to Eugene, who made an obvious and immediate effort to stifle his disagreement. He looked down at Varian skeptically, tongue only barely held.

“Look,” Varian said, “I know the last time we split up didn’t exactly go…  _ great. _ But I’ll remind you, I looked out for myself for a long time without your help.”

Eugene’s expression did not shift. Instead, he glanced over the log again, gears turning behind his eyes, before returning to their huddle. “Compromise: we both go to the tent, and I find a way to make sure Trevor enters it alone once he’s done with his hunt. We tie him up, get the information we want, gag him, and run.”

“Again, they have horses,” Varian said evenly. 

“Fine, we get the info we need, gag him,  _ steal some horses _ , and  _ then _ run. We just have to get back to the lift before them.”

Varian took a chance to look over the log. In the distance, Trevor was still screaming, likely at some poor page who hadn’t straightened his uniform correctly. 

“Fine. In, and out,” Varian agreed. 

“You forgot the part with the Saporians,” a third voice mused, startling both of them badly. Spinning out of their huddle, Varian and Eugene whirled around the way they had come to find a newcomer standing there.

Eugene was on his feet in an instant, sword drawn. The anxiety that had been following Varian since they’d crossed the wall--those vines, snaking across the forest floor--finally caught up, snaring him around the lungs, making it hard to breathe. So great was the shock that Varian’s ears were ringing with it, his stomach erupting with queasy adrenaline.

Andrew was smiling at him the way a wolf might smile at a lamb’s throat. “We have to stop meeting like this, kiddo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=TT1aX7QmTRGDss-hia4hzQ
> 
> 1) "The Stowaway" - The sluice gate and her keeper  
> 2) "Eris Steals the Book" - A plan of attack is made, and immediately ruined.


	7. Into The Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arianna has a repeating nightmare. Eugene overestimates his odds. Varian finds himself in the wolf's den.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is nearly 4k so let's just pretend I put it out a few days ago and didn't make you guys wait so damn long. The next one is already under way.
> 
> Hey, @rapunzel.3.24 over on Instagram drew this adorable art of Eugene protecting Varian from local creep, Stubs! Thank you so much! Go check it out and give them a follow!! https://z-p42.www.instagram.com/p/B_Irj-rFJex/ 
> 
> Also some of y'all got some theories, and this chapter may be fun for you. Just saying.

“Arianna, thank god you’re alright!”

Frederic’s arms folded around his wife with the ferocious relief of a mother bear, his chest heaving with a breath he didn’t know he was holding. She patted him on the back awkwardly.

“Yes, I’m alright, dear,” she soothed, looking out over his shoulder at their bedroom and wondering how much longer she could put up with this.

“I was so worried I’d lost you,” Frederic admitted, his voice saturated with emotion. “As your partner, I should have done a better job keeping you safe from harm. Can you ever forgive me?”

Arianna managed to pull away from the hug without offense and cupped her hand against the side of his face, sighing as she took in the shadows under his red glowing eyes. “Of course, dear, I would never blame you for something like this.”

Predictably, Frederic’s expression darkened, just as it had before. “No,” he agreed, “the fault is with Varian. I’ll have the guards double their search. He’ll face justice if it’s the last thing I do.”

If it were the day prior, Arianna might have pleaded, argued, tried to reason with her husband. She had expended so much energy trying to convince him of the curse, trying to bring him back to reality, but even when she made progress—and on the one dizzying occasion where she had succeeded—it didn’t last. Every couple of hours, something in Frederic’s memory reset, and he was right back to discovering her safe at his side. He’d rejoice each time, his relief genuine and true, because he’d completely forgotten the conversation they had just been having. Each time, he looked upon his wife as though she had just returned from the clutches of certain doom.

“Hush, dear,” she soothed, guiding his face back toward her and taking a careful breath. “I need you to stay with me right now. Can’t you please?”

This, she had found, was the most effective way to keep Frederic from rallying the troops. If she convinced him to stay with her and protect her from the threat that lurked in his mind, then it meant Rapunzel had that much more time to try and set things right.

Frederic hesitated. When he was angry, he only wanted action, and the red-eyed curse only made that more obvious. But Arianna didn’t have to pretend to be exhausted and worried, not after more than a day of trying to keep her husband reigned in. At the sight of her, he relented, and took up her hands.

“Of course, my love,” he said quietly. Arianna smiled at him sadly, and adjusted where she was sitting to lean back into his embrace. She’d been sitting like this only minutes prior before he’d reset again and leapt up in surprise. 

From across the room, the door in the corner opened. A familiar voice cleared his throat.

“Forgive the intrusion, your Majesties,” Nigel said quietly, bowing his head as he leaned around the door. 

“Nigel,” Frederic declared, sitting upright but not rising from the couch. “Alert the guards that the queen has been found, and is safe. I expect Varian to be brought to justice by nightfall.”

There was a dangerous edge in his tone, one he only barely managed to keep tamped down out of respect for his wife. 

Without him noticing, Arianna gave Nigel a quick shake of her head.  _ Discount that. _

Nigel considered her for a moment before bowing his head to Frederic. “Of course, sire. We are all doing what we can to keep this kingdom safe.”

“Very good,” Frederic gruffed, leaning back into the sofa before the fireplace, one arm around his wife. He seemed reluctant to let go of her, as if she would slip away from him the second he did. This, too, she was getting used to.

Nigel bowed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Arianna’s gaze lingered in that direction, wishing she could go with him. Wishing she could join her daughter at the helm and see them out of this crisis. But it had been agreed that so long as the king was under the influence of this curse, the best thing she could do was to stay by his side and keep him from escalating things any further than he already had. 

“Don’t worry, dear,” Frederic reassured her, mistaking her restlessness for concern. “Nigel has served this household for decades. I trust him to oversee things while I remain here with you.”

“Rapunzel is doing wonderfully,” Arianna said, patting her husband’s arm. His expression grew steely. After all their daughter had accomplished, it was hard to remember that at the time of Varian’s attack, Frederic had been resisting their daughter’s independence. Each time his memory looped, he had a different response to the idea of her leading the charge while he sat back.

This time, mercifully, he remained quiet, choosing instead to hold Arianna a little closer. She patted his arm soothingly, gazing into the fire. At least for the next few hours, she could have a bit of peace, before he reset again.

-

When it came to picking fights with the odds stacked hilariously against him, Eugene Fitzherbert was a professional. 

That is perhaps why he didn’t feel cornered, even when Equisian soldiers appeared from behind trees all around them, having closed in on them while they’d been making a plan of attack. Before them, Andrew’s smug grin was an infuriating challenge, as overconfident as it was cruel. 

“When Stubs told us you had Fitzherbert with you, I thought it’d make it more difficult to get my hands on you, not easier,” Andrew said, speaking directly to Varian. The alchemist stood just behind Eugene, tense and silent; Eugene hadn’t risked a glance back to see how he was handling this yet, but knowing Varian, he was only about halfway through his round of panic. Eugene had to buy them a few moments for the kid to get his wits back about him.

He leveled his sword at Andrew, drawing the other’s attention away from Varian. “Can I give you a piece of advice real quick, before we get started?  _ Shape _ the beard. You can’t just let it grow in like a mad man, it really does require maintenance.”

He counted ten, twelve, fifteen men, all armed. They had stacked up against tougher odds before, but Varian wasn’t a fighter. 

“Heard they made you captain of the guard,” Andrew said easily, turning that overconfident smirk his way. “Nepotism at its finest. If Corona keeps that up, it’ll fall in no time.”

Eugene only laughed. “Would you like to test my mettle?”

“I’d rather just take what I came here for,” Andrew replied easily. “Seize them.”

The soldiers moved. Eugene deflected the point of the nearest halberd and grabbed another by the pole as it sailed past his thigh. He looked wildly over his shoulder to make sure Varian wasn’t in danger, only to find the alchemist had overcome his shock and had chucked a pink alchemy ball at several of the guards. The men stood snared up to the knees in pink goo, alarmed and toppling over one another.

Confidence bolstered, Eugene turned his attention toward where Andrew had been standing, only to find him gone. 

In fact, the guards that had been flanking the Saporian had pulled masks up over their faces. Eugene swung his blade and deflected a few more halberd strikes, his attention splitting between the offending weapons and the men wielding them. They had pulled masks up too.

“Eugene,” Varian’s voice cut through the forest air, loud and urgent, “cover your mouth--”

Something hit the ground between them and split open with a loud hiss. White smoke billowed outward, engulfing the scene in seconds. 

Whatever the stuff was, it was sweet-scented and hazy like fog. Eugene pulled the crook of his arm over his mouth, squinting into the smoke in an attempt at spotting any other weapons coming at them, but the soldiers were backing up further and further. 

Varian’s hand grabbed Eugene’s wrist, a startlingly strong grip that shot out from the haze. Varian was moving, dragging him in the opposite direction of the camp, trying to get out of the smoke and away from the retreated guards. Eugene followed suit, but the forest began to wobble. Trees swayed all around them, and the ground was beginning to roll, a disorienting motion that pulled him toward the blanket of pine needles on the forest floor.

“Eugene,  _ move, _ ” Varian was shouting, pulling at him even as the boy began to stumble himself. “It’s chloroform, we have to-- don’t breathe it in--”

Was Varian’s voice slurring, or was Eugene’s hearing failing? He stumbled over a fallen log and lost contact with Varian’s grip. An instant later, he heard the alchemist cry out in surprise.

With swimming vision, Eugene scrambled to stay on his feet. Before him, Andrew had grabbed Varian and had flung him to the ground. The mask obscuring the lower half of the Saporian’s face didn’t hide the nasty smile that reached his eyes. 

“Get away from him,” Eugene warned, his words unfamiliar mush to his own ears. He moved forward, reaching out as if to shove Andrew away, only for his own feet to stumble beneath him again. The forest floor rose up and rammed into him. 

Everything spun. Eugene couldn’t even be sure if his eyes closed when he tried to squeeze them shut, hoping somehow that his vision would be clearer when he opened them. “Varian,” he slurred, urgent and raspy. His hands pressed into the earth, and he managed to raise himself about a foot off the ground before he slumped back onto his side.

He could see Andrew. The man was hunkered down, one knee pressed into Varian’s back. Whatever he was saying, it was in that same overconfident, smug voice. One of Varian’s legs moved, sluggish and weak, before the boy gradually fell still.

“Leave ‘im... alone…” Eugene managed. His head felt light, and the world spun, and his limbs gradually stopped responding. 

Shit.

-

In the Flynn Rider books, chloroform knocked people out instantly. All it took was holding a chloroform-soaked rag over someone’s mouth for a few seconds, and  _ boom, _ out like a light. 

This was not how the chemical worked in real life. It took prolonged exposure for it to really work like that, and no one is going to let an assailant hold a sweet-smelling rag over their face for upwards of fifteen minutes. 

In a gaseous form, chloroform dissipated quickly. Whatever was in that alchemical bomb, it made the gas heavier, made it potent enough to render Eugene and Varian useless. But even when his body grew weak and unresponsive, Varian did not lose consciousness. 

“You know,” Andrew said above him, his voice low with cruel pleasure, “I’m almost glad that you’ll be enslaved down in Equis. Getting revenge on you is way too satisfying to let you off the hook with death.”

He was kneeling on Varian’s back, which made it difficult to breathe. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Varian recognized the irony of it.  _ If you want this gas bomb to work, you should let me inhale it, _ he thought, using the last of his fading strength to try and wriggle out from under Andrew’s knee. All it accomplished was one of his legs moving sluggishly across the forest floor, before Varian gave up.

There were plenty of guards around to haul them off to wherever prisoners were kept in a small forward camp, but Andrew was the one to grab Varian up off the ground. Being slung over Andrew’s shoulder without any strength to resist was bad enough without the world keeling all around him, but the man was not gentle.

Time moved in strange bursts. One minute, Varian was struggling to breathe with Andrew’s shoulder driving into his abdomen; the next, his arms were being wrenched behind him and tied behind the pole he was slumped against. Varian’s head lulled, his jaw resting against his shoulder. People were talking. Where was Eugene? Where was  _ Varian? _

Someone’s grip found his jaw and forced his head up. Andrew was squatting before him. Sunlight filtered through the beige canvas walls of a tent. 

“--see what you have,” Andrew was saying, giving Varian’s jaw a harsh squeeze and shake. The bruising from the Stabbington attack ached in response. 

Hands moved into Varian’s pockets. He moaned thinly and tried to kick a leg out, but it hardly did more than scrape across the hard-packed dirt floor. 

Andrew was pulling small vials of this and that out from the pockets Varian had been carrying them in. A pocket watch; his compass; a few silver coins. When Andrew patted his hand against Varian’s chest, the man smiled.

“What do we have here,” he asked, his voice momentarily clear through Varian’s watery hearing. He pulled Varian’s vest open, popping off one of the buttons in the process, and reached into the inner breast pocket.

A small, thin book slipped out into the space between them. It was leatherbound, with a rose encircled with thorns stamped into the cover.

Varian had completely forgotten about it. He was used to the weight of a notebook in that pocket; he’d swapped it out for Xavier’s potion book when the blacksmith had given it to him several days prior.

“What is that,” a different voice asked, making Varian abruptly aware that there was a third person in the tent. If he’d had the muscular control to startle, he would have.

Andrew stood. Varian struggled to lift his chin to follow him, blinking blearily up at the stranger as the new man came closer. There was something familiar about him: long skinny legs, a rotund gut barely contained by satin pants, and a long sharp nose. 

Varian knew who this man was. He squinted, and then closed his eyes tight to try and shake off the fugue of the sedative.

“My god,” the stranger said, “it  _ can’t _ be. How did that little rat get his hands on this?!”

“Are you going to tell me what it is, or not,” Andrew answered, an edge of warning to his voice.

The man--his name was just there, out of Varian’s reach,  _ what was it?-- _ huffed indignantly. He waved the book in the air between them to emphasize his explanation. “This is a one-of-a-kind guide on how to walk the thin line between science and magic.”

Someone snorted with laughter. It took Varian a moment to realize that it was him, and only because he turned his eyes back toward the two men to find them both staring at him.

The unnamed man turned his long nose even higher into the air, his nostrils flaring. “Is something  _ funny?” _

Varian rested his head back against the support beam he was tied to. “Magic is just… science we can’t explain yet,” he slurred. It was difficult to project his voice, so it came out soft and sleepy. 

The man sniffed and stepped passed Andrew, stopping only when he was properly towering over Varian. “You consider yourself some sort of savant,” he sneered. “No doubt your undeserved title in Corona has given you a big head,  _ boy, _ but mark my words, there is nothing a scrawny little farm boy can do that I cannot. You know  _ nothing _ of the world of science.”

Suddenly, it clicked. The man’s name came to him in a moment of clarity so sharp Varian could have sworn he heard a bell ring. “Doctor St Croix,” Varian said slowly, careful to get the syllables right with his weakened tongue. “I’ve read your-- your big  _ book.” _

St Croix regarded Varian with only the slightest hint of curiosity. Ever the vain man, his interest was piqued by the possibility of flattery, even if it was from someone he found so contemptible. “Oh? How quaint that you could even afford a copy.”

Varian offered him a small, lazy smile. “Took a few hours to get through it,” he muttered. “You have a lot to say about nothing.”

_ “Excuse _ me?”

“You’re an idiot,” Varian clarified, his head still resting against the support beam. Behind the man standing over him, Andrew laughed, a single mean sound that was undeterred even when St Croix turned a venomous look his way.

“Disrespectful little cur,” St Croix snarled, adjusting his posture before bringing the back of his hand across Varian’s face in a quick, startling strike. The boy’s head snapped to the side before slumping forward, his eyes squeezed shut in dizzy pain.

“Enough,” Andrew decided, his tone almost bored. “Give me the book.”

“I dare say not,” St Croix huffed, “there’s  _ money _ to be made with this book in the hands of a capable scientist, and--”

“And it’s not yours to take. You’re in the employ of King Trevor, remember?”

St Croix’s face soured, but he had no argument to make. With obvious reluctance, he handed the small book over to Andrew, who tucked it into an inner pocket of his vest. “Good. Now why don’t you go make yourself useful and bring the schematics so that this ‘scrawny little farm boy’ can fix what you couldn’t?”

The man’s chest puffed up like it was filling with hot air, but even with his nose turned toward the heavens, he held his tongue. Whatever command chain was running this camp, Andrew was clearly high up it. In a red-flushed bluster, the man turned on his heel and stormed out of the tent, leaving Varian alone with the Saporian.

Andrew turned toward him, and smiled. The sleepy, mean-spirited glee of bullying St Croix vanished from Varian’s chest.

“Hey, buddy,” Andrew drawled, relaxing into the joy of finally having his target under his boot. “Long time since our last chat, huh?”

“I’m not fixing anything for you,” Varian managed. “Not a single fucking thing.”

“Ooh,” Andrew chuckled, “watch your language! There are children in this tent.”

Varian lifted his chin in a meager attempt at appearing defiant despite the drugs in his system. “I didn’t cave to Zhan Tiri, and I won’t cave to  _ you.” _

Andrew tisked. He fanned a hand over his heart as if he’d been hurt by Varian’s promise, and squatted in front him, resting his elbows casually on his thighs. “Now that’s not very nice. We go way back, don’t we? Remember the good times, down in that dungeon? You were such a mess, back and forth between anger and regret, it was exhausting to watch. But hey, at least we could agree on one thing, huh? That we both wanted to destroy Corona.”

Varian shook his head, pulling weakly at the bindings around his wrists. “You’re a manipulative piece of shit,” he said, “who used me to get what you want.”

Andrew’s grin widened, taking on a different quality. His hand reached up and grabbed Varian’s jaw again, lifting the alchemist’s head so that they were eye to eye. “That’s not how I remember it. I remember your anger, Varian. It was so pure. A weapon all on its own. All I had to do was direct it at something.”

He let go of Varian’s face and heaved a large, dramatic sigh. “So imagine my surprise when the curse  _ didn’t _ get you.”

Varian stared at him. For a moment, he wasn’t certain he understood what Andrew meant. That Frederic hadn’t killed him? That they’d managed to elude the guards?

But Andrew was looking at him with that smug grin, and realization dawned on Varian gradually. His face fell.

“What,” Andrew said, “you didn’t think we went through all that trouble just to make Frederic angry with you again, did you? Come on now, Varian, you’re smarter than that.”

The Saporian stood, leering down at him from above. “If you had that anger back, you’d leap at the chance to join the right side of history again. And if you were easy to manipulate in prison, when you had all those regrets? Imagine how easy it would be to lead you along if you only had the anger this time?”

_ The curse was for me. _ Varian felt immediately stupid and astounded. If Trevor wanted a war, and needed Varian to build the weapons and army he wanted, why would he risk Trevor killing him in that library? 

Because the curse had infected the wrong people.

“Well, thank god for Fitzherbert, leading you all the way out here, huh?” Andrew was smiling, clearly enjoying the expression on Varian’s face. “Don’t worry, buddy, we’ll remake the curse here soon, and you’ll be none the wiser. Look on the bright side: you’ll be totally conscious and in your right mind when you watch your buddy get cut down by the king and his hunting party!”

Varian’s gaze, which had drifted into the middle distance as he processed this realization, snapped back to Andrew abruptly. “What?”

“Oh,” Andrew said, his tone easy, casual, “did I not mention that? King Trevor came all this way to hunt some big game, and that big game is going to be Eugene Fitzherbert.”

Varian jolted, a completely unconscious attempt at getting out of his binds and up on his feet. Nothing came of it besides Andrew’s laughter. 

“What better way to declare war on Corona than to cripple Rapunzel from the get go by killing her precious husband?”

“You can’t,” Varian said, speaking before he could think, his words rushed and pleading.

At this, Andrew’s hand shot forward and fisted into Varian’s hair, yanking his head back. “Oh, I can do whatever I want,” he said, the conversational tone replaced with the cruel snarl that had been lurking just underneath. “But don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten about you. I made sure to be nice and rested today, so I could welcome you back  _ properly.” _

When his fist came down, all Varian could do was close his eyes and brace for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=nTS8i-RvRbaqgoYE_t1N6A
> 
> 1) "Would you date me?" - Arianna comforts Frederic (again)  
> 2) "Up The Down Trench" - Team Awesome vs guards and chloroform  
> 3) "The Fuse Is Lit" - Varian alone with Andrew and St Croix


	8. The Most Dangerous Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eugene finds himself in a rather unfair situation. Varian reaches his limit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surpriiiiiise...
> 
> The next chapter following this one is pretty ambitious, if my notes are any indication, so it will either take a little extra time, or will be broken into two chapters. Who knows! What a mystery! I'm not regretting bricking myself into this complicated plot at all!
> 
> So anyway, have a back-to-back double feature update. Thanks for all the awesome comments y'all leave by the way, it is Fueling Me through this quarantine.

Eugene had been unceremoniously deposited in an empty tent about two hours ago, and had ridden out the disorienting effects of the chloroform gas without any company to distract him from it.

He had decided that it was worse than being drunk, because at least when you’re drunk, you’re not thinking about what your body can and cannot do. With his wrists bound behind the central post of the tent, and nothing but his own boots to keep his mind off of things, it was impossible _not_ to spiral into anger and panic at how useless he felt.

He didn’t know if he’d seen Andrew carry Varian off or if he had imagined it, but it didn’t matter. Eugene Fitzherberd was a miserable, useless, lying fuck-up who should have listened to his gut and stayed on the right side of the border wall, and now because he hadn’t, Varian was in huge danger. He had promised Rapunzel he’d keep him safe, he’d promised _Varian_ he’d keep him safe, and yet he had walked the kid right into the clawed, grasping hands of two of the most contemptible people he’d ever met. 

Varian was smart. He was clever, and sharp-minded, and good at problem solving. But a muscle-bound warrior he was not, and it didn’t matter how fast Varian could read or how easily he could invent things if he was facing off against Andrew unarmed. 

Why hadn’t he taught him how to fight? Why hadn’t he insisted on sword lessons, or knife practice, or how to throw a punch? As captain of the guard, wasn’t it Eugene’s responsibility to teach Corona’s foremost engineer how to look out for himself? Especially after last year, when they’d found Varian in the woods, beaten and broken and sobbing from fatigue. What kind of a friend was he, to have not insisted that they take preventative action? What kind of a big brother was he?

Outside, the sounds of horses being tacked and men making preparations was growing louder. Eugene was making no progress at getting his wrists free, and so far the entirety of his plan was simply to fight his way through the Equisian soldiers until he found Varian. 

Maybe it was the drugs that were making it so difficult to react calmly. Maybe it was the restlessness that was bogging him down, or the guilt that was blinding him. But for someone so used to worming his way out of trouble, Eugene was having an awfully difficult time doing it now.

The flap to the tent was pushed aside abruptly. Eugene squinted into the sunlight, levelling a glare at the soldiers who entered. 

“If that kid has so much as a single scratch on him, I’ll burn this place to the ground.”

The blunt end of a halberd pole caught Eugene across the jaw, jarring his teeth together on the side of his tongue. The taste of copper flooded his mouth, and as he shook his head and rolled his jaw to try and recover, he spit a mouthful of blood onto the dirt beside him.

“You’re in no position to be making threats,” one of the soldiers said, scowling down at him from above, halberd still held aloft.

Three more men had surrounded him. One held the point of his halberd against the side of Eugene’s neck while the other two undid his cuffs, quickly rejoining his wrists behind his back once the pole was out of the way. They hauled him to his feet, and not all of his dead weight was resistance; the chloroform had not completely worn off yet. 

As he was dragged from the tent into the late afternoon sun, Eugene finally got a good look around.

The settlement was laid out like a hunting camp, a collection of small tents and awnings that sloped elegantly over outdoor tables to provide shade. The banner of Equis was everywhere, a constant reminder of exactly who this camp belonged to. In the overly ornate fashion Eugene had come to affiliate with Trevor, each piece of furniture and finery was as expensive as possible. 

The only thing that broke the illusion of a casual royal outing was all the armaments and soldiers.

It wasn’t a hunting camp--it was a forward camp disguised as one. And just because the old woman on the wall hadn’t seen any advancing troops didn’t mean there weren’t any coming. 

Eugene was led through the ankle-high grass and out of the cluster of tents. Surely, Varian was in one of them, but there was no sign of the alchemist anywhere. 

He spit again, flexing his tongue with a wince. He knew he had bigger problems, but optimistically, he’d have difficulty eating for at least a week. _Bastards._

Beyond the camp, the meadow opened into rolling acreage, brushed with woods and fields. As the guards marched him closer, Eugene saw that a gathering of horses and men lingered just beyond the last tent. Even from a distance, he could recognize the man mounted on a particularly large stallion at the center of the group.

King Trevor watched Eugene’s approach with an anticipatory gleam that curled his mustache. He was dressed in hunting finery, light leather armor meant more for show than practicality. Where his large boisterous crown usually sat, a small band of gold ringed his head, indicating his rank without sacrificing practicality during a ride. 

Among the gathered soldiers on the ground, Eugene found Varian.

His clothing was askew: one of the seams on his shoulder was ripped, and a button had been popped from his vest, which hung half-open. Like Eugene, Varian’s wrists were bound behind his back, and Andrew had a firm grip around his upper arm, holding him up. Varian’s posture stooped in such a way that it was clear he was in pain, but when he spotted Eugene, he still moved forward, pulling against Andrew’s hold as though he had any chance of breaking free.

Eugene was marched to a halt before Trevor and forced to his knees by the guards on either side of him. Cold mud soaked through his pant legs. He didn’t once take his eyes off of Varian.

“Hey kid,” he said easily, smiling in spite of everything. He pushed his aching tongue against the inside of his lower lip to indicate the small trail of blood that ran down his chin. “We match.”

Varian, who’s own lip was split and bloody, gave Eugene a weak, watery laugh. It did very little to lessen the waves of anxiety that were coming off of him.

“Eugene Fitzherbert,” King Trevor began, his reedy voice cutting through the moment. “I must admit, I’m looking forward to this with great enthusiasm.”

“Aw shucks, Trev,” Eugene replied, finally looking away from his younger companion, “a lot of people are thrilled to meet me, but it means a lot coming from you.”

The sarcasm did not do what he expected. Where he figured Trevor would snarl and huff and shoot something back, the king only grinned wider. “Self-flattery will not help you this time, boy,” Trevor said, adjusting his grip on the reins of his horse. The animal was shuffling about in anticipation of something. “Would you like to know what’s in store for you on this beautiful day?”

Eugene felt his stomach twist. Did Trevor intend to have him executed? Would he go that far? How would doing that serve him? Perhaps if he chose his words carefully, Eugene could corner him into a duel, make him look like a coward if he declined. Better to get a sword in his hand and a fighting chance.

Varian caught his eye again. Andrew had given him a rough yank to keep him still, but it was the expression of open fear on Varian’s face that gave Eugene pause.

“I accept your challenge for one-on-one combat,” Eugene said easily, trying not to let the ice forming in his stomach distract him. “I’ll go easy on you, your majesty.”

Trevor loosed an unflattering giggle. “How embarrassing, that you cannot guess! Well, allow me to illuminate for you your fate. My advisors and I have come all this way for a hunt, and a hunt we shall have. And you will be the star!”

With his mind moving a mile a minute, Eugene spoke before he really thought about what he was saying. “Oh, well, in that case, I’ll take that big brown horse over there. Are we after bucks?”

He knew he was being deliberately obtuse, even before he finished. Varian’s visible fear, Trevor’s smug excitement, Eugene’s unfortunate position--he knew what Trevor was going to say before the man opened his mouth.

“We’re after _you,”_ the man declared, his smile taking on a wicked hue. “What better way to declare war on Corona? When Princess Rapunzel opens the box with your head in it, she will despair so thoroughly she won’t be able to counterattack in time. Frederic, that _fool,_ will be useless now that his mind has been reset. And once your precious little engineer is brainwashed too, I’ll be an unparalleled military might. I anticipate Equis will claim victory by midsummer at the latest.”

Eugene stared up at the man, that ice in his stomach growing rapidly upward into his chest. He wasn’t sure what his face looked like; he hadn’t bothered to try and school his reaction. Whatever Trevor saw, it clearly brought him joy.

“In the spirit of good faith,” the man announced, “We’ll give you a sporting chance. Shall we say, ten minutes head start?”

The guards that held Eugene released him. Someone undid the cuffs behind him, and every available sword and halberd turned his way. Pulling his hands in front of him, he rubbed at his wrists and looked around, heart pounding in his ears. 

Varian was still struggling against Andrew. The Saporian hardly seemed to notice, absorbed as he was in enjoying the scene. “Eugene,” the alchemist pleaded, his voice raspy with fear. It was desperate and hushed, as if Eugene was going to figure his way out of this if Varian could only convey his hope strongly enough.

Overhead, a shadow passed between Eugene and the sun. Somehow, over the chaos of planning that raged in his head, he heard a distinct sound above, and looked upward.

Silhouetted by the bright sky, a bird soared by, familiar in it’s unusual shape. Eugene’s eyes widened a fraction in recognition. 

“Your time starts now,” Trevor announced, his horse shifting beneath him eagerly. “Do try to make this fun for us, won’t you?”

Eugene’s eyes followed the bird as it flew out over the field and vanished beyond the nearest cosp of trees. He swivelled his gaze back to Varian--no one else seemed to have noticed the animal. The kid looked miserable with panic.

“Don’t worry, Goggles,” Eugene said, rising to his feet and adjusting his shirt as if the most important thing in that moment was looking presentable. “I’ll be right back.”

Varian looked at him pleadingly, those big eyes desperately trying to see the plan that Eugene had brewing in his mind. With a confident grin and a wink, the captain of the guard turned his gaze toward Trevor and made damn sure he looked him in the eye unflinchingly. 

“To the victor goes the spoils, aye?” he asked, taking some pleasure in the small glint of annoyance on Trevor’s face. 

Then he turned, and began to run.

Once he cleared the trees, every yard he covered helped formulate a plan. Having some degree of cover helped--initially, sprinting down the grassy hillside, he’d been certain that an arrow was about to pierce his back. The longer he ran, the more Eugene realized that Trevor really did intend to give him a head start. Which meant he really did intend to hunt him like game, too.

He couldn’t focus on it. Varian was back there, and needed his help. Eugene lifted his eyes upward again, seeking out the bird he’d seen earlier, and spotted a few tail feathers just as they vanished beyond the trees in front of him.

He pushed harder. His legs felt numb with pins and needles, a rubbery sort of uselessness that was receding as he moved. The more control over his muscles that he got back, the more resolution he felt forming. 

“Drug me like some sort of coward,” he grumbled beneath his breath as he ran. “Beat up a kid who can’t fight back? _Threaten my wife?_ Oh ho ho,” he laughed bitterly, “is it going to feel good when I set that prick’s camp on fire.”

He continued running. After a successful leap over a fallen log, a smile found Eugene’s face, his confidence in his physical ability surging back. 

How long had it been? How much more of his ten minutes did he have to go? It hardly mattered. He would stick to the trees, would think like a thief, and would keep running in the direction of what he hoped meant help. After all, he didn’t have much other choice. 

In the distance--further behind him than he would have guessed--the sound of horses neighing sounded out. They were rallying, beginning to move. Eugene looked upward again, finding his target among the trees. A familiar hoot rallied him on.

“You’d better be who I think you are,” Eugene said, picking up the pace. 

Up ahead, the bird began to circle, and then descend. The ground beneath Eugene’s feet sloped downward, a gradual hill that helped him pick up speed. The valley below opened up to him, and he spotted it ahead in the trees: a horse, and a small campfire, just recently put out and still steaming gently. 

He was several yards away when he heard the bugles. The hunt was on. 

Before him, the owl he’d been chasing settled onto the horse’s saddle. The huge clydesdale had turned at the sound of Eugene’s approach, her ears perking up in recognition as he neared. 

Suddenly, something swept across the earth in front of his feet, tripping him and sending him flying. He tumbled across pine needles and twigs, crying out in more surprise than pain, before righting himself and scrambling to see what had happened. There’s no way they’d already caught up-- it hadn’t been more than a moment since the bugles, so what could have--

Standing where he had just been, sword lowering out of a battle-ready stance, stood exactly who he had been praying he would find. Eugene’s chest heaved with relief and elation. 

Cassandra lowered her sword and stared at him in complete bafflement. _“Fitzherbert?_ What the fuck are you doing here?”

-

“You can’t do this,” Varian was saying, straining against Andrew’s hold and craning his neck to look at where Trevor sat high above on his horse. “It doesn’t make any tactical sense! Killing Eugene won’t cripple Rapunzel, it’ll make her more vicious than you’ve ever seen! _Please,_ don’t hurt him, I’ll do what you ask, I’ll--”

“Silence, boy” the king barked, pushing at the stirrups of his saddle as the horse beneath him trotted in place anxiously. “You’ll do what you're told willingly once our spy provides us with the materials to remake that curse. Now be _have,_ or I’ll have you lashed.”

The horses were all rallying now. One of the hunting assistants had drawn his bugle and was preparing for the signal to blow it. Eugene had only vanished into the trees a few minutes ago, there was no way he had any chance to get away or fight back, how was he supposed to--

“Don’t worry, your majesty,” Andrew said behind him, “I’ll take care of him. Enjoy the hunt.”

“No,” Varian burst, pulling uselessly against Andrew’s grip, “don’t do this! Please!”

The bugle blasted out a simple tune, and the horses burst into a run. Trevor didn’t so much as spare him a second glance as the party took off down the hill, thundering in the direction Eugene had fled.

Varian continued to struggle, to no avail. Andrew hooked an arm around Varian’s chest and hoisted him up, carrying him sideways kicking and fighting all the way back toward the tent they had originally brought him to. Standing just outside of it was Dr St Croix, who looked resolutely sour as Andrew and Varian approached. Under one arm, the older man carried several long scrolls; under the other, a riding crop.

“Shall we, gentlemen?” Andrew asked, dragging Varian inside the tent and throwing him to the ground. Varian hit the dirt with a grunt and immediately struggled to get back up, his mind focused almost entirely on Eugene. Before he could seize a window of escape, however, Andrew snagged his arm and dragged him to the pole in the center of the tent. His struggling continued to be useless; with only a few deft movements, Andrew had uncuffed his right wrist and wrapped the length of chain around the pole, securing it around itself to trap Varian’s left wrist. When he stepped back, Varian grabbed at it with his freed hand, but it was a futile effort.

While the two of them struggled on the ground, St Croix was busying himself by unravelling one of the larger scrolls and looking it over with a haughty expression. After Varian kicked his foot out at Andrew only to miss him by a few inches, the nobleman passed the scroll to the Saporian.

Andrew slapped the paper down on the floor before Varian without any ceremony. Varian’s first instinct was to grab it and tear it up, to spite them at the very first opportunity, but he went still when he lay his eyes on the contents of the scroll.

It was the trebuchet design from Xavier’s cellar. 

“The good doctor has hit a snag with these schematics,” Andrew explained, his voice sounding for all the world like this was a pleasant conversation. “You’re going to fix the math and make it work.”

Varian’s heart was hammering with fear and adrenaline over Eugene’s fate. Suddenly, his own circumstances hardly mattered to him. He climbed onto his knees and leaned as close as he could toward Andrew, his arm pulled taut behind him, just so he could say the words right to his smug face. _“Fuck you.”_

Andrew didn’t flinch, only smiled wider. If he wasn’t likely to hit Varian again, the alchemist would have spit in his face. “Well,” the man drawled, “who's to say we won’t send a rider after the hunting party to call it off if you do?”

Varian stared at him, his chest huffing in and out with quick, panicked breaths. He had no reason to trust anything Andrew said, but a small doubtful voice wondered if the man was being honest. What if this was all an elaborate way to get Varian to obey orders? Was he just thinking that because he was desperate to help Eugene?

“You’re lying,” he replied after a tense moment of doubt. Andrew shrugged and sat back on the floor, assuming a comfortable, casual pose. 

“Only one way to find out.”

The Saporian’s expression was impossible to read beyond the facade of confidence and control. Varian tugged uselessly at the cuff around his wrist and reluctantly dropped his eyes to the schematic, his eyes flicking over the scrawled handwriting and measurements. 

He had no way of knowing if this was a bluff. But if it had even the slightest chance of helping Eugene… shouldn’t he do it? Slowly, Varian’s anger gave way to doubt and guilt, and his shoulders fell.

“Tick tock,” Andrew murmured in a sing-song voice.

Varian closed his eyes, and slumped back onto his ankles.

“... That’s the wrong equation for calculating potential energy,” he said quietly, defeat overwhelming him. 

“It is _not”_ St Croix countered hotly, reasserting himself back into the conversation by smacking his open palm with the business end of his riding crop. “You _dare_ correct the work of a professional?”

Suddenly, Varian had no patience for his arrogance.

“You’re calculating for kinetic energy,” he shot back, his attention snapping upward and tension returning to his shoulders. “Which is irrelevant until the trebuchet is in motion. It’s basic physics, which you would know if you gave two shits about science instead of _flair!”_

St Croix surged forward as if to strike, but Andrew held out his arm, stopping the man in his tracks. The Saporian was smiling at Varian. “There’s that anger,” he said appreciatively. “Do the math, Varian, and do it right, and I might just send word for them to call off the hunt.”

“No,” Varian snapped. Andrew was right--Varian _was_ angry, in the same self-righteous way he had been down in those cold cells beneath Corona. The difference was that now, Varian had enough experience to know when he was being manipulated and when he could put his foot down. “Call off the hunt, and bring Eugene back here, _alive._ I’ll fix whatever mistakes this idiot has made as long as Eugene is unhurt.”

Andrew’s eyes glinted with dangerous amusement, like a cat tormenting a mouse. “Oh? You think you’re in any position to make demands?”

“Unless you want to put the fate of this whole shit show in the hands of the moron behind you, _yes,_ I am.”

St Croix was fuming, the very picture of indignation. He spluttered, only to have Andrew hold up his hand again. The Saporian was looking at Varian closely, waiting for the first sign of a crack in his confidence, looking for the submission that he had almost talked Varian into moments before. He found neither. 

Andrew sat back and loosed a long, slow sigh. “I’m trying to decide which is better,” he mused. “Forcing you to work for us by using Fitzherbert as leverage, or letting him die and putting up with your sanctimonious bullshit until we can get that curse remade. It’ll be so fun to tell you about Eugene’s death once your mind is wiped.”

“He should be whipped as King Trevor suggested and forced to work regardless,” St Croix huffed. “Put the little wretch in his place.”

Andrew didn’t respond, as though he hadn’t heard the man. He just continued to stare at Varian with those unnerving, assessing eyes. The tension between them ratcheted ever upwards, both refusing to break eye contact or back down. St Croix stood forgotten. The tent around them, the soldiers beyond it, all faded away. It was only Andrew and his sadism, and Varian and his self-righteous anger.

Suddenly, Andrew snapped out of it, shattering the moment. “Aw,” he laughed, waving his hand through the air like he was clearing it or smoke, “you got me. I wasn’t going to send a rider out. Eugene will be cut down no matter what you do, and his head will be sent to Corona.” Andrew laughed as though this were a charming inside joke, rather than a horrific admission. “What does it matter? Breaking your spirit will be half the fun.”

“You’re an idiot for underestimating him,” Varian said, his voice low and threatening. Andrew only laughed again, climbing to his feet without any rush. 

“No, I’m an idiot for underestimating _you,”_ Andrew corrected. “You know, when this whole thing started between us, all I wanted to do was see you dead for betraying Saporia. But I’ve realized, Varian, especially after last year? Just how enjoyable it’ll be to make you _hurt._ I think--and I’m being open with you here, buddy--that the thought of hearing you scream and beg has actually gotten me through some pretty tough times. So, I owe you. Really. And I know you won’t disappoint.”

Fear rose up alongside the anger in his chest. Varian stared up at Andrew with barely-contained horror, breathing hard and fast. The Saporian stretched, insisting on appearing as casual as possible, before he turned to St Croix.

“Get the equations from him and fix the schematic. And don’t do anything permanent.”

The nobleman grinned. "With pleasure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=mMFvIyGSTsyaLSsGyZUPsA
> 
> 1) "Duck Hunt" - Eugene's regrets / Let the hunt begin  
> 2) "Journey to Skyhold" - Cassandra arrives  
> 3) "Tick Tock - Shadows: Pt 2" - Andrew and Varian square off


	9. Do Not Go Gently

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eugene finds an ally, and strikes back. Varian takes matters into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No horses were harmed in the making of this chapter.

_ “Fitzherbert? _ What the fuck are you doing here?”

When Cassandra had heard that trouble was brewing at Corona’s border, she had wasted no time in turning for home. Rumors circulated after all, and word of Equis getting antsy had come hand in hand with the rumor that Corona may be its target. She had even entertained, while on her journey back home, the idea that old villains from their past adventures may be involved. For all its colorful cheer, Corona always seemed to be in one kind of distress or another, and had no shortage of small-time enemies.

What she had not anticipated was that within an hour of the border wall, she would come across Eugene Fitzherbert, looking like he’d been through the wringer.

She could hear approaching horses in the distance, and a bugle calling out the repeating trill of a hunt. It did not pull her baffled attention away from Eugene.

“Equis wants a war, Frederic is cursed, and Varian is in danger,” the man explained rapidly, allowing no room for air in the conversation. “Any chance you’d be willing to leap into the fray and play hero for a bit?”

She stared at him, trying to connect the dots he had hastily laid out. She decided quickly that it was a futile effort. “I’ll admit,” she deadpanned, “this isn’t the homecoming I was expecting.”

Eugene laughed, slightly hysterical. “What, you thought everything would be operating perfectly without any enemies in sight? In Corona?”

“I haven’t even been gone for a full year,” she cut back, her face a mask of agitated disbelief.

“I’m very aware,” Eugene replied quickly, looking over her shoulder. “And it’s great to see you again, Cass, it really is. But Trevor is hunting me for sport right now and Andrew has Varian, so if we could act now and story swap later, that’d be ideal.”

“Andrew has--?” Cassandra repeated, hoping to process the statement. This, too, was useless. The ‘how’ and ‘why’ didn’t matter if what Eugene was saying was accurate, and why would he lie? Her expression hardened. “Where.”

It was not a question--it was a demand. Cassandra had always been good at compartmentalizing, even when she was blindsided by unexpected drama. Reunions would have to wait.

“Back at the forwarding camp, up the way I came.”

“Those horses--the hunting party?”

Eugene was shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot, looking like he was about to bolt. “Yhep.”

Cassandra looked toward Fidella, and then turned in a full circle to take in the trees around her. She’d only been here for a few hours, had only stopped to make something to eat before continuing on, but it was enough time to assess the lay of the land, and find her exits.

“Grab the rope on Fidella’s tack bag,” she instructed, authority surging across her whole demeanor. “And hurry.”

Eugene moved. He grabbed up the heavy coil, throwing it toward Cassandra’s open hands. She was already moving, tossing him back one end of the rope. “That tree over there,” she pointed across the clearing, “tie it around at knee height, and make sure the knot holds.”

“On it,” Eugene said, falling into step. How funny, that even after all this time--and all she had put everyone through--that they could fall into action together as if no time had passed. 

Cassandra bolted for a tree about twenty feet away in the opposite direction, skidding to a stop and looping the rope around it. Both of them together pulled it taut, stretched across the ferns that covered the open forest floor. 

“Owl,” she called, looking over her shoulder as she expertly twisted the end of the rope into a powerful knot, “find Varian!”

She was answered with a hoot before the bird’s shadow flew past her toward the camp. With the rope secured on her end, she stood and moved back to Fidella at pace. Alongside the saddle was her sword, as well as a less sentimental spare, which she tossed to Eugene without a word. He looked elated to have it. 

Cassandra swung up onto Fidella’s saddle with practiced grace. “How many?”

“Ten, twelve tops,” Eugene answered, drawing the sword and stepping up beside her. Anticipation rolled off of him in waves. “There are at least forty more back at camp.”

Cassandra groaned. “I’m gunna have  _ words _ with you when this is over, Fitzherbert.”

At the crest of the hill, the hunting party came into view. The thoroughbreds thundered down the slope toward them, Trevor at the lead with his sword drawn. If he hesitated when he saw Eugene flanked by a newcomer on a huge horse, they couldn’t see it. The hunting party did not slow their pace.

“This will get chaotic fast,” Cassandra said, raising her voice to be heard over the advancing roar of hooves. “We can’t fend them all off, but we can thin the herd. First chance we get, we head for the camp.”

“I made a pretty confident statement about setting it on fire, so if we have the opportunity, I’d like to be a man of my word,” Eugene said, that familiar cocky humor bringing a smile to Cassandra’s face despite the abrupt turn her day had taken. Somehow, she had missed it.

“Was Varian okay when you last saw him,” she called. 

Eugene’s grin fell. It wasn’t quite panic that took over his face; there was too much anger for it. “He could have been better.”

Cassandra took in his response and bit down on it, letting anger well up from the source. They had to hurry.

The bugle sounded again, loud and close. Trevor and his party were so close now that Cassandra could make out his mustache and over-confident smile. 

“Hold,” she called, her sword at the ready. Eugene bounced on his heels, ready for the fight.

The second the hunting party arrived where the rope had been drawn up, everything went sideways. The first horses, including Trevor’s, stumbled over the tripwire and keeled violently forward. Some caught it with their front hooves, some with their back--either way they went tumbling, crying out in surprise. Their riders were thrown, expressions of open surprise replacing their confident grins as they sailed through the air.

Cassandra kicked, and Fidella moved. The tripwire snapped after the fourth horse tripped, and she didn’t want to give them any time to reevaluate. As the four horses struggled back to their feet in a panic, Cassandra rammed into the nearest horse who hadn’t tripped, throwing it’s rider clear off of it.

Eugene was moving across the ground at speed. He leapt clear over Trevor, who lay stunned and moaning on the ground, and grabbed the shirtwaist of the first man he found who was still on mount, pulling him to the ground with all his strength.

The hunting party, organized only seconds ago in their pursuit, was scattering like roaches now. Cassandra upended one after another, sparing the horses while pulling and shoving riders off of their mounts. When the gleam of a sword caught her eye, she turned and parried it away, her strength clearly surprising the man who had tried to attack her. She swiftly brought the handle of her sword against his helmet, knocking him off of his horse with ease.

The group of eleven mounted men was suddenly four, three, two. One of them had peeled away, either from cowardice or to go get help. He was out of range toward the camp before Cassandra could stop him. 

Eugene appeared beside her at eye level, having mounted one of the recently-liberated horses. With all the other hunters groaning on the ground, Cassandra turned Fidella toward the where uncertain horses had gathered and waved her sword, hollering at the animals. Eugene joined her, smacking hindquarters where necessary in order to spur the herd into a run. The horses got the hint, and fled away at full speed, leaving all of the men without mounts. 

With a hoot of victorious laughter, Eugene thrust his sword in the air. “Come on, Trevor,” he called down, “do try to make this fun for us, won’t you?”

Parroting the king’s arrogant words back to him was a short-lived rush. Cassandra and Fidella were already moving, heading uphill without any time to waste. Eugene spurred his own horse forward, following after her. 

She was right to be quick. The exhilaration of turning the tables on Trevor dissolved in Eugene’s mouth as he shifted gears to the next goal. More troops awaited them, maybe knowingly if that one hunter had made it back to camp already. And in the center of the small armed force, Andrew had Varian.

“Hold on, kid,” Eugene murmured, gripping tight the reins and digging his heels in to encourage the horse to run faster. “We’re coming.”

-

Both Dr St Croix and Varian watched Andrew leave the tent before the nobleman turned toward the alchemist with a sharp grin. Now fully in charge, St Croix was growing smug once again. He flicked his riding crop into his open palm expectedly.

“Let’s see if we can’t find some manners underneath all that disrespect,” the man mused, beginning a slow circle around Varian.

But St Croix and his little stick were the least of Varian’s concerns. With Andrew gone and Eugene in danger, he had to do something. His eyes flicked around the tent at lightning speed, searching for a plan, searching for something,  _ anything _ that could help.

The cuff around his wrist was not pinch-tight, nor was it loose enough to pull his hand through without some kind of lubricant and a lot of effort. There was nothing in the tent that could help with that, even among the alchemy vials that had been taken from his person and set aside. If he could just get his wrist free, he could get out of here, and then--

“Pay attention,” St Croix barked. Apparently, the man had been speaking. A sharp pain snapped across Varian’s upper left arm, startling a yelp out of him. He flinched and turned his attention wildly toward where the man was withdrawing his riding crop. 

Absurdly, that’s how the idea came to him. Varian realized in an instant how to slip out of the cuff. 

“I remember you,  _ boy,” _ St Croix snarled. “I disqualified you from that science expo, and you turned your machine against everyone in attendance to get revenge.”

The thought was so absurd that it nearly erased his plan from his mind. Despite his immediate indignance, however, it was the cover Varian needed. He latched onto it. “I didn’t turn anything against anyone,” he shot back,  _ “you _ were the one who tried to operate my machine without knowing what the hell you were doing!”

The riding crop struck him across his cheek, and he startled badly at the sting of it.  _ Seriously,  _ he thought wildly,  _ how much more can one cheekbone take? _ His eyes closed tight as the pain passed. 

“You will learn to speak to your betters with respect,” St Croix snarled, splittle flying. 

It was infuriating, and went against the very grain of his instinct, but Varian bit down on his reply. He had to believe that if this worked, the payoff would be worth it. 

“Do you want me to fix your math, or not,” he asked, turning a scowl up at the man and desperately wishing that his eyes weren’t watering from the sting of the most recent blow. If St Croix mistook it for crying and commented on it, Varain wasn’t sure if he could follow through with what he needed to do, and in the moment, he needed to be tactful with how he spoke.

Mercifully, the man was too offended by Varian’s choice of words to notice. Another spike of pain lit up Varian’s upper arm, and he flinched back, curling his free hand behind his back in such a way that might suggest cowering.

“There is nothing wrong with my math,” St Croix snarled. “I am an academy professional! The kingdom’s elite line up for  _ miles _ for my tutelage.” 

_ Poor elite, _ Varian thought, but once again managed to hold his tongue. 

The man stopped before Varian on the other side of the schematic, his heels clicked together as if good posture would prove his claim. “The Saporian equations are inferior. Fix them.”

Varian set his jaw, took a deep breath, and managed to reply without sounding overly sarcastic. “And where would you recommend I begin,  _ Doctor?” _

“Impudent little fool,” the man growled, “must I do everything? This equation here is clearly the work of a weak Saporian mind.” He used his riding crop to point out a section of scrawled math, written in a hand that was identical to the writing St Croix had claimed ownership of earlier. 

“I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what you know about it,” Varian replied, struggling to keep his tone even.

Behind his back, he moved his free hand down the length of his left forearm, feeling the bandages that covered his injury from Frederic’s sword. As subtly as he could, he began to pick at the edges of the bandage, working to unwrap it.

St Croix turned his nose up, looking down at him with familiar disdain. “Shouldn’t a  _ prodigy _ like you be able to handle it, hm?”

Eugene had done a good job cleaning up the wound, but the bandages had only been tucked closed, not pinned. It began to unravel with relative ease. “What,” Varian prompted, feeling the cloth fall away and finding tender stitches beneath, “are you dodging an answer because you don’t actually know what you’re talking about?”

The riding crop found his shoulder again, causing him to wince and inhale sharply with pain. His nerves had gotten the better of him; he’d missed the first opportunity.  _ Shit. _

“You will address me as  _ sir,” _ St Croix instructed sharply. “And I am perfectly aware of what they  _ thought _ they were doing. See here, when calculating for the counterweight, they failed to properly account for gravity.”

Bracing for the next strike, he slid the fingers of his free hand over the line of stitches along his injury, and set his jaw. “When you wrote this equation, you neglected to acknowledge that Saporia used a different unit of measurement than the standard of the Seven Kingdoms,  _ sir. _ Did your academy not teach you that?”

With predictable vindictiveness, the riding crop came down on Varian’s upper arm. He closed his eyes tight, sucked in a sharp breath, and dug his fingers into the stitches on his arm.

If his sharp, aborted mewl of pain even registered for St Croix, the man didn’t seem to notice that anything was going on behind the alchemist’s back. Under Varian’s fingers, the split stitches were quickly flooded with fresh blood as it welled up from the reopened wound.

“And what makes you think that’s the case,” St Croix demanded. 

Through grit teeth, Varian managed to keep his voice level. “Because I’ve read at least one book on Saporia. Literally the  _ bare minimum, _ and I know that.”

St Croix huffed, nostrils flaring. “Well then, if you’re such an expert,  _ fix it.” _

Varian was breathing heavily, only just barely controlling his composure. He couldn’t let up pressure on the wound, not yet. A small amount of blood wouldn’t do the trick. As nauseating as the thought was, he had to do this right. He’d only get one chance. 

“Even if you account for the mass with the appropriate unit of measurement,” he ground out, “you still need to know the speed of acceleration. What’s the tension force holding the arm of the trebuchet down?”

He could feel it, warm and wet, rolling down in his arm in several rivlets. For a brief, horrifying moment, he thought he might dry heave, but he held it back. Banishing the last of his inhibitions, Varian pressed his palm over his arm, smearing it with red, before reaching for the cuff. He began in earnest to twist his now-slicked wrist out of the cuff.

When St Croix hesitated and did not immediately answer, Varian lunged at the opportunity to distract himself. He hoped that the tension in his voice from the pain would be read as incredulousness, or at the very least, that the dizziness he felt would be read as fear.

“You don’t even know  _ that? _ You multiply the mass of the trebuchet with the force of gravity, and then subtract its mass times acceleration. For shit’s sake, can you do  _ anything?” _

The crop came down again, this time thrice in rapid succession, earning another yelp from deep within Varian’s chest. His hand began to wedge out of the cuff, slowly but surely.

Unexpectedly, St Croix grabbed Varian by a fistful of hair, yanking his head up roughly. Apparently, it had been one insult too many.

The man loomed into Varian’s personal space, getting nose-to-nose with him. He spoke in a low, threatening voice. “Mark my words, boy,” he snarled, “before this is done, I will see you flogged half to death for your insolence. You think you’re untouchable because the princess of Corona will protect you? You think you’re better than your  _ obvious _ superiors because you have a few alchemical bombs in your bag? You’re nothing more than a flea-bitten little rat, who learned how to read too early and got a big head as a result. If it’s the last thing I do, I will  _ put you in your place.” _

Varian’s hand sprang free. He didn’t move. Rather, he stayed perfectly still, glaring St Croix down as best as he could with the man looming over him. “Oh yeah?” he asked, matching St Croix’s low, dangerous tone. A rush of victory and adrenaline was rising up inside of his chest like a tide. “Are you gunna do something about it, old man, or are we going to sit here and let alzheimer’s run its course?”

Something in St Croix’s eyes short-circuited, anger snapping the man’s spine into an upright position. He lifted his hand, coiling tight with every intention of slapping Varian clear across the face. 

He didn’t expect Varian to reach up with a blood-soaked hand and catch his wrist before his knuckles could make contact. 

He definitely didn’t expect Varian to surge to his feet and bring a closed fist into his face.

With an audible  _ pop, _ Dr St Croix reeled backward and dropped to the ground, out cold in an instant. Varian stood, both boots planted firmly on top of the trebuchet schematic, chest heaving and fists balled at his sides. He stared down at the man with open contempt, a slight tremor in his shoulders as adrenaline rocked through him.

The moment the rush began to recede, pain throbbed into Varian’s dominant hand. He curled forward, shaking his hand out with a raspy  _ “Shit, ow,” _ before pressing it between his thighs as if pressure might reduce the pain. “Goddamnit,” Varian gasped, “that hurts  _ so bad, _ how the hell does Eugene do that?”

St Croix did not move, aside from his chest shifting with each breath. 

Varian had no time to spare. Now that he wasn’t giving all of his focus to his arm or St Croix, he was becoming aware of growing sounds of shouting outside. Whatever was going on, he doubted he’d be left alone in the tent for long, even if no one knew he’d just knocked out the doctor.

Varian crossed to the low table where his pilfered possessions lay and grabbed them up, hastily returning them to their appropriate pockets. He deliberately avoided looking at his bloodied arm at every opportunity.

He needed his bag.

He needed the book that Xavier had given him, that Andrew now had.

He needed a  _ plan. _

_ It’s just a problem that needs solving, _ Varian told himself, looking one last time down at St Croix’s prone form and giving his good hand one more shake to try and chase away the pain of punching him.  _ You’re good at solving problems. You can do this. _

Cautiously, he moved to the entrance of the tent, and took a breath to brace himself. He pulled it to the side only a few inches, peering out.

In the fading evening light, soldiers were moving quickly toward the outskirts of the camp where the hunting party had set off. Varian tensed, a bolt of anxiety shooting through his stomach. Were they coming back? Was Eugene okay? Had he done something to turn the tables, and that’s why the guards were panicked? Or else…

Varian shook the thought from his mind. He couldn’t dwell on it. He had to move. With all the soldiers fleeing away from him, it left the grassy covered area outside the tent open for him to slip into. The cool evening air helped him focus as he slipped along the side of the tent, staying low and seeking cover.

Momentarily, he thought about heading for the trees. He may be able to find a good hiding spot without going too far. He may also be able to circle the camp, and just maybe, he could find Eugene, and help.

Above and to his left, an owl hooted. Varian lifted his eyes without thinking, spotting the offending bird perched on top of one of the support poles for an awning.

For a moment, Varian thought his eyes might be playing a trick on him. The bird hooted again.

“Owl?” Varian whispered, his voice quiet with dawning realization and hope. Owl blinked at him and looked downward. Varian followed the bird’s gaze.

Underneath the awning, lying in the grass beside a rack of halberds, sat his backpack.

A new idea dawned on him. If the soldiers were flooding out of the camp and leaving it unattended, there was a better way for Varian to spend his time before anyone returned to find he’d escaped. 

After all, Varian had plenty of flammable chemicals in that bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=aQ5DvzZbTh2vE9BjHauvbQ
> 
> 1) "The Sea Monster" - Eugene and Cassandra turn the tables  
> 2) "Marital Sabotage" - Varian and St Croix square off


	10. Spitfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varian puts his talents to good use. Cassandra and Eugene confront the enemy.

Varian had had his fair share of pain over the last few days. Frederic’s sword; the Stabbington attack; Andrew and St Croix beating on him. Hell, pulling open his own stitches should have been the pinnacle of the abuse, which all things considered had at least happened by his own hand.

And yet, dumping his alchemical solutions into the grass topped it all.

He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much. He had more of each chemical back in the castle laboratory, but Varian was angry, and full of adrenaline, and goddamnit, this was  _ his stuff _ that he had to dump onto the ground because of Equis and  _ fucking Andrew, _ and if they had just left him alone he wouldn’t have to do it. What if they needed any of these chemicals later?

But, he needed the vials now, for a very real issue. He couldn’t get sentimental over hypotheticals.

Once he was satisfied with the number of empty vials he’d accrued, he uncapped a larger jar of bright-green fluid. He had found a ball of twine in his bag, and wasted no time unravelling a long section of it and feeding into the jar to soak.

While it bathed in the flammable liquid, Varian uncorked another vial and began portioning its grainy contents into each container he had emptied. 

Owl perched above him, swiveling his head around in a constant look-out for incoming soldiers. Where the bird had come from, or what he was doing here, Varian had no idea. Did he dare hope that it meant Cassandra was in the woods nearby? Did that mean Eugene had backup?

If that was the case, Varian had no idea how he felt about it. Elated? Apprehensive? Anxious? (Well, ‘anxious’ was a fairly default state for him these days, so that one was self-evident.) Better to just be angry about spilled chemicals and keep working on what was in front of him.

Drawing the cluster of twine from it’s green chemical bath, Varian set about feeding loops of the string into each vial of powder before re-corking them. The more he added, the longer the strand got, creating a morbid sort of garland with plenty of slack in between each vial to lead from tent to tent. 

The chaos in camp was escalating, soldiers shouting and rushing about. Varian could hear horses drawing close, their thundering hooves still distant to his ears. He struggled not to think about the hunting party returning, especially if it meant…

_ Focus, Varian, _ he insisted, capping the last of the vials. He shouldered his backpack carefully, his bruises and cuts complaining with each twist of his torso. Cautiously, he rose to his feet, staying low. Above, Owl hooted softly to signal that the coast was clear. 

He glanced around the tent beside him. Back across the camp, the clearing where the hunting party had set out from was again a center of activity, but there was only one man on horseback among them. The soldiers that were gathered there were all armed. Varian couldn't tell what was going on, but it wasn’t the welcome party for King Trevor, he was sure of that.

Taking a knee, Varian lifted the wall of the tent a few inches and reached under, pressing the first vial on his doom garland inside.

He had to move carefully to the next tent, feeding the twine out along the grass as he went to make sure the first vial stayed where he left it and didn’t get dragged along after him. He moved in a crouch, heart hammering. Owl was invaluable, fluttering from post to post and hooting gently with encouragement. 

At the next tent, Varian tucked the second vial underneath the canvas wall, and kept moving. 

Distantly, Andrew’s voice cut out over the chaos. “You men, head into the trees to the right; you, to the left. Let them come. We’ll flank and surround them!”

_ Them. _ Varian felt that unnamable rush of emotions again, a thrill of panic and joy. He bit it back as fast as he could. He had to keep his focus on the task at hand.

He planted another vial under the wall of the third tent in one practiced sweep of his arm. He had no time to waste, even if friendly faces were on their way. Especially if, by the sound of it, they needed more help than he did. 

Owl hooted abruptly, in a different pattern than before. Varian stopped short, ducking behind the closest tent and hunkering down. He didn’t know Owl’s patterns of communication, but this one seemed pretty self-evident. Seconds after he dropped down, three soldiers jogged past, their armor rattling as they went.

He glanced up at the bird of prey with a panicked, grateful smile. “Thanks,” he whispered. Owl blinked back at him with a quiet hoot.

While the sounds of shouting and rushed preparation surrounded him, Varian kept moving. He didn’t need to wait to be rescued; he could take care of himself. 

After three more tents, he only had two vials left in his careful hands. Once they were planted, it was just a matter of timing. He was halfway to the next target, ducking behind an empty halberd rack for cover, when he heard the sound of more horses approaching. Again, the panic of the hunting party returning triumphant shot through his chest like a bolt, but it quickly vanished at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Miss me?” Eugene hollered, his tone heightened with victory and confidence. Varian chanced a look around the side of the rack while Owl settled down on top of it.

Two horses were thundering up the hill. One of them was an unfamiliar mount with the crest of Equis on it’s tack. Eugene was astride it, looking no worse for wear than when he’d taken off running down the slope earlier that afternoon. Varian’s mouth pulled into a wide, thrilled smile at the sight. It faltered, however, when the second rider came into view over the crest of the hill.

Cassandra.

She was too far away and moving too fast for Varian to make out much else, but that storm surge of mixed emotions rose in him again and he turned back around. Huddled behind the rack, he stared into the middle distance for a moment, wondering if he should reassess. Did this change things? The last time he’d seen Andrew and Cassandra in the same place--

Owl settled onto his bent knee and tutted at him. Varian snapped out of it, regarding the bird warily before he could steel himself. 

It didn’t change anything. Owl lifted off of his knee, and he rolled forward, continuing toward the next tent. 

-

Just about everything in and around Corona reminded Cassandra of what she had done a year ago. Images of black rocks and towers, of that wretched ghost girl, flashed across her mind in rapid bursts each time something reminded her of home. 

Her decision to return had not been made lightly. She knew she’d be riding into a fog of regret and nightmares. At the time, she had reasoned that she owed Rapunzel more than she could ever repay, and her being uncomfortable was not a good reason to avoid her debts.

She had not, however, anticipated how quickly one of those debts would come calling. 

Shortly after Eugene’s overconfident tease, they had arrived at a barricade of halberds. Unwilling to put Fidella at risk in the face of all those spear points, Cassandra had stopped. Seconds later, men had flanked them from behind, surrounding them. 

For those behind them, she and Eugene had the advantage of higher ground. The soldiers in front of them, however, had the same advantage over them. She supposed she should be grateful that they didn’t have crossbows.

In the center before them, Andrew stepped forward. The very sight of him made Cassandra tense. Not for fear of the Saporian--no, she had bested him time and again in combat, and would handily do so now.

Andrew made her tense because the last time she’d seen him, she’d been working with him to hurt someone she cared about.

“Don’t tell me you killed the king of Equis,” Andrew said, loud and clear over the clatter of armor. He sounded more theatrical and sarcastic than serious. “Why, that’d be an act of war!”

The wall of halberds moved toward them, inch by precious inch. The looks on the faces of the men surrounding him did not match Andrew’s carefree levity. 

“Cassie,” Andrew greeted, a tight edge to his words that betrayed his surprise and frustration, even if he was trying to sound casual. “Long time no see.”

Cassandra leveled him with a glare, her chin lifting with indigence. “Where is Varian, Andrew?”

At this, the man threw up his hands and laughed. “Aw, now isn’t this familiar? It’s like we’re right back in that old tree, huh?”

Cassandra drew her sword, her desire to shut him up momentarily overwhelming her composure. The halberds around them all surged forward another few inches. Beside her, Eugene held up a subtle hand.

“I’m going to be direct,” Eugene said, speaking before Andrew could get another chance at riling Cassandra up. “Let Varian go, and I  _ won’t _ kill you.”

This earned a mild titter of laughter from some of the soldiers.

“Oh,” Eugene called out, raising his voice to ensure he was heard, “you don’t believe me? Big lot of loyal men you are, standing up here when your king is alone and injured in the woods. The sun is setting, people! Is no one concerned about that?”

Cassandra could feel the hesitation roll over the soldiers in a wave. She watched as some of them glanced from side to side at one another, the same question lingering unspoken between them: was this a bluff?

“Who are you loyal to,” Cassandra shouted, lunging to cement their doubt before Andrew could dissuade it. “King Trevor? Or  _ him?” _

She pointed her sword at Andrew. For his part, the Saporian only looked marginally frustrated. 

“You’ve been gone a while now, Cassandra,” Andrew replied, “so let me bring you up to speed. I have a seat within King Trevor’s most trusted counsel. These men will do as I instruct them.”

“And you instruct them to let their king lie injured in the woods?” Eugene cut back. 

Andrew’s confident grin thinned. Cassandra could see that he also felt the men’s hesitation, and if Andrew was playing the long game with Equis, he couldn’t afford to show his hand now.

Without looking away from Cassandra, Andrew set his jaw and said tightly, “Captain Halrick. Take five men and find the King. See if these Coronans are lying.”

To his right, a broad man nodded and stepped back, drawing his halberd up. Five others followed suit with only a single barked order, and headed toward the woods behind the wall of spears that kept Cassandra and Eugene in place.

It didn’t do much to thin the herd, but it was better than the full force.

“Where is Varian,” Eugene said, his voice hard with warning. He wasn’t interested in finding more cracks in the ranks that surrounded them; he was only of one mind, and that was finding his younger friend. Cassandra took a quick, deep breath to try and center her focus on the same goal. Just seeing Andrew again had rattled something in her that went deeper than she wanted to admit.

“He’s being well looked after,” Andrew answered, some of that old cruel smile returning to his face. “And once we have him back in Equis, he’ll make us an army of automatons that will  _ flatten _ Corona.”

“Varian will never help you,” Eugene responded, so sure of his words that Cassandra--and by the look of it, a number of the soldiers--immediately believed him. But Andrew only grinned wider. 

“Oh, he will. That little curse, see, it didn’t infect everyone it was supposed to. Once we remake it, and reset Varian to when he was an enemy of Corona? He’ll do exactly what I tell him to do.”

Beside Cassandra, Eugene’s head snapped back a fraction of an inch, his expression somewhere between surprise and dawning realization. He had mentioned a curse, hadn’t he? He’s said it had something to do with King Frederic. Were there more people infected by it? How wide had it spread? What had it done?  _ Shit, _ they should have taken a minute for her to get more information from him before they’d rushed into action.

“Fine,” Eugene said, his voice tense, “one amendment: tell me where Varian is--and how to break the curse--and then  _ maybe _ I won’t kill you.”

Andrew shook his head and looked for all the world like he was dealing with an idiot. “Seriously? You’ve been walking around with the key to your problems this whole time, and you didn’t even realize it, did you?” The Saporian reached into his vest and withdrew something from an inner pocket. It was a small book bound in dark leather, which he held aloft to ensure that they both saw it. “And now that you don’t have it anymore? There’s nothing you can do about the curse.”

“What are you talking about,” Eugene shot back. It was clear from his expression that he didn’t recognize the book, and neither did Cassandra. Still, the way that Andrew presented it made her itch to grab it from him. 

“I’m talking about this handy potions guide that your little pal was carrying with him. Neither of you even realized what it is, did you?"

Eugene sat upright and turned to face Cassandra. “You know what? I don’t think we’re getting anywhere with this. You ready for a fight?”

It was a stupid question. Hell, this was a stupid situation, seeing as less than an hour ago Cassandra had been eating lunch by a small cook fire and enjoying the solitude of the forest. They were surrounded by soldiers, held at spearpoint, and vastly outnumbered. Eugene looked exhausted, and Cassandra didn’t even know what was going on. Was she ready for a fight?

She looked toward Andrew, who was leering at her with that insufferable, smug face of his. 

Fuck it. She was ready for a fight.

Cassandra drew her sword. The halberds that surrounded them all shoved forward, lowering and bracing for an attack. Fidella shifted beneath her uneasily. 

Eugene drew his own weapon and adjusted his grip on the hilt, readying himself. Tension mounted around them loud and clear, a trill of anticipation, and then--

And then the tents started exploding.

-

There was a part of Varian that thrived on chaos, provided he had some semblance of control over it. When he lit the end of the twine on fire with a match, and watched a bright green spark travel down the length of the string toward the first tent, he felt a rush of satisfaction at a plan falling into place.

It was short-lived; he had to keep moving. 

The first  _ bang _ sent the walls of the nearest tent outward with a great ball of fire, which rolled into the sky and caught whatever it could in its blaze. The green spark continued on, snaking through the grass along the twine toward the next tent. They went off one after another, concussive booms and balls of alchemical fire shooting into the evening sky.

The effect it had on the soldiers was almost comical. As the fire spread with each dramatic explosion, they scrambled like startled cats out of formation. At first, there was no order, no direction for them to run in. Only panic, followed by a few rapid orders being shouted to put the fire out. As more and more soldiers overcame their shock, they each began to race for the tents, heedless of Andrew shouting after them to stay where they were.

Soldiers called out to one another about saving King Trevor’s prized heirlooms, the schematics that St Croix had been working on, the battle plans they’d been drawing up. The first tents to explode were already engulfed in flames--Varian hoped they were the tents that housed the schematics and plans.

Owl soared across the chaos toward Cassandra, and Varian followed. A few soldiers even rushed past him, blind to the escaping alchemist with their focus entirely on the fires. Varian moved as fast as he could, his eyes set on Andrew’s back.

“Get back here,” the Saporian was yelling, ‘forget the tents, we have to--  _ stop _ you idiots, hold them at arms! Damnit!”

In one of his hands, Andrew was holding his sword. In the other, he was clutching the leather book that he’d taken from Varian. 

The alchemist had heard Andrew’s little reveal about the importance of the book; more immediate than escaping, more crucial than getting to Eugene, Varian had to get it back.

Cassandra and Eugene were engaging with the few soldiers who had stayed back, but now the odds were far more in their favor. The metallic sound of swords colliding rang out over the din of noise, men being knocked aside with ease by the two experienced fighters. Andrew’s focus was still on them, waiting for an opportunity to enter the fray with the upper hand. 

As he moved through the chaos, Varian picked up a mallet for driving in tent stakes. The anger that had driven him to punch St Croix, that had spawned from Andrew taunting him, all surged forward into one singular focus. Varian picked up speed, lifted the mallet, and swung.

It connected with the back of Andrew’s head with less force than Varian would have liked, if he was being brutally honest, but it still sent the man sprawling into the grass. Varian stumbled, temporarily thrown off balance by the weight of the mallet, before he let it go, swinging it away into the nearest fire. 

On the ground, Andrew shifted awkwardly, groaning and holding the back of his head. He wasn’t unconscious, but he wasn’t getting up any time soon. Varian surged forward, grabbing the Saporian by the sleeve and hauling him onto his back, revealing the leather book beside him.

Varian grabbed it, and held it firmly in front of Andrew’s face. “Sorry buddy,” he said, his voice hard with anger and certainty. “There’s been a change of plans.”

Andrew squinted up at him in a confused haze. Varian could see the moment the man registered what he was seeing, and he dove back just before Andrew could grab him. 

He couldn’t risk Andrew recovering and getting the upper hand. Varian had only landed the hit because he’d had the element of surprise. If Andrew got back on his feet, he’d be in trouble.

Without another wasted breath, Varian took off running in the direction of the sword fight. “Eugene,” he called, stumbling a little over a dropped halberd and catching himself before he could fall. 

Eugene, to his credit, managed to kick away the man he was sparring with before he turned. Relief and laughter lit up his face at the sight of the alchemist running their way.  _ “Hell _ yeah, kid! Great minds think alike!”

Breathlessly, Varian laughed, running up to them just as Cassandra disarmed her own target. Fidella and the Equisian horse had backed up to avoid the flying blades, but were still lingering nearby. 

“We have to go,” Varian urged unnecessarily. He regarded Cassandra for a breathless moment, their eyes meeting, lingering, moving down and away from one another.

“Come on,” Eugene agreed, grabbing Varian’s hand only for his fingers to slip right off. He looked down in bewilderment before panic pulled at his features; he’d just noticed the blood that slicked Varian’s arm. 

“It’s fine,” Varian rushed, pushing at the man’s chest. “Move!”

The chaos around them would be short-lived, and they knew it. A few yards away, Andrew was struggling to his feet, still holding one hand against his head. “Varian,” he boomed, his voice loaded with the threat of violence. It was all the incentive the trio needed to get moving. 

Eugene leapt up onto the Equisian horse first before hauling Varian onto the saddle behind him. Cassandra was already on Fidella by the time Varian oriented himself. 

By now, the fire had consumed the camp, and was lighting up the fading evening. A column of smoke was rising heavenward, already clearly visible from the wall. As the two horses took off in the direction of the river, Varian caught a brief glimpse of a few soldiers helping a livid, whimpering St Croix away from the burning wreck.

They made it into the trees, moving at full speed back the way they had come earlier that day. Distantly, Varian could hear more horses being rallied, men pulled away from the fire and ordered to pursue by Andrew’s booming voice. It was falling away behind them, further and further, but it’d catch up to them soon. They had no time to waste.

“We have to get to the lift by the sluice gate,” he yelled, wrapping his arms around Eugene’s middle to keep from being thrown from the horse. Ahead and to their right, Cassandra shouted back a brief confirmation that she’d heard. Surely, the old Crowely at the gate would have seen the fire by now, but would she get to the lever in time to pull them up? Or would they have to make a final stand at the lift?

Varian chanced a look over his shoulder, and felt his heart drop. Appearing behind them, haloed by the radiant fire of the burning camp, were several mounts. At the lead was Andrew, and beside him, Trevor.

King Trevor looked like he’d taken quite the tumble, and was as fuming mad as Andrew. Varian couldn’t make out much with the horse jostling his vision, but he saw enough.

“What the hell did you do,” he yelled to Eugene, who was focused entirely on getting the horse beneath them to keep at a sprint. 

“Nothing,” the man yelled back. “You clearly rescued yourself!”

“No, I mean to Trevor,” Varian replied. “He looks really pissed off!”

At this, Eugene looked wildly over his shoulder, spotting the pursuing enemies just as Varian had. A burst of laughter shot out of his chest. “Oh,” he called, “tripwire! Cassandra’s idea!”

Varian chanced a look over at their new companion as he processed the information. Cassandra was looking sternly ahead, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge anything but the wall that loomed closer and closer before them. 

“What happened to your arm,” Eugene asked, his tone edged with anger and concern. “Did Andrew do that?”

“I did,” Varian replied, looking again over his shoulder. Their pursuers were no closer to them than they’d been a moment ago. “I’ll tell you later, I really don’t want to think about it.”

If Eugene said anything in reply, it was swept away by the wind before Varian could hear it. 

On foot, it had taken them a little over an hour to walk from the wall to the camp. On horseback, they were flying toward their goal faster than Varian would’ve thought possible, and soon the lift came into view. It was still lowered, just as Crowley had said it’d be, but it was no bigger than they’d left it, and if they wanted to all fit, they’d have to abandon the horse Eugene had stolen. 

Varian looked again toward Cassandra. Fidella was big and heavy, but the lift was engineered to carry a horse, so with luck, it’d hold. As he assessed the saddle bag and wondered at the weight it’d add, something caught Varian’s eye. 

“Cassandra,” he called, finally earning her attention. “The crossbow,” he yelled, pointing at a small compact device mounted beside her bag. Cassandra, who looked at him with a momentary bout of confusion, suddenly remembered that she had the thing, and drew it into her lap. 

“The bell,” Varian shouted, pointing ahead to the lift. “She’s slow as hell, we have to ring it early or we’ll be fighting them on the ground!”

Maybe she knew about the wall, and about Crowley, because Cassandra reacted without any need for clarification. She hefted the small weapon and aimed, loosing the first bolt as soon as they were within range. It missed, thunking audibly into the wood framing of the lift. 

“Varian,” Andrew called from behind them, sending a rush of panic right up the alchemist’s spine. He still sounded so angry, so ready to break something. Cassandra fired the crossbow again: miss, thunk. Again, miss, thunk. She cursed loudly and fired a fourth time, and the sudden sound of a bell ringing out encouraged them forward. 

Eugene pulled up short a few yards shy of the lift, drawing the sweating, heaving horse to a stop. Varian jumped off, stumbly badly enough upon landing that he had to catch himself with his hands against the ground, but he was up and running for the lift before Eugene even got down to help him. Behind them, Fidella came to an anxious stop and neighed at the exhausted horse beside her, as if saying goodbye. Cassandra rode her right onto the lift, ducking to avoid the upper frame, before finally dismounting.

The lift remained firmly on the ground. Trevor, Andrew, and the accompanying four soldiers were rapidly approaching. Stepping between them and the opening to the lift, Cassandra lifted her crossbow, took aim, and fired. A streak of silver in the fading light signaled Andrew’s sword swiping the bolt clear out of his way. 

“I only have two left,” Cassandra said, her voice tense. Eugene’s arm moved in front of Varian, sweeping him to the back of the lift up against the wall. 

“No matter what, kid, don’t get off this lift,” he said firmly, not looking back at Varian as he spoke.

Cassandra fired another bolt. It sailed past Andrew, missing him by inches. She swore fiercely, frustrated by her difficulty aiming, and tried to settle herself with a deep breath as she took aim again. 

Before she could loose the bolt, the cables above them groaned, and the lift began to shift. It rose a few agonizing inches at a time, halting as the gears high above adjusted for the added weight of a clydesdale. Then, with a concerning creak, it began to ascend with relative speed.

Trevor and Andrew were only yards away, but they were too late. The lift had hauled their prey up and out of reach just in the knick of time.

“Damn you,” Trevor wailed, his pitch high and furious,  _ “damn you! _ This isn’t the end! I’ll have those automatons, boy, and Corona will fall!”

“Are you sure,” Eugene called back, “because it looks to me like your plan just went up in smoke!”

Varian ducked under Eugene’s arm, stepping right up to the rail of the lift and looking down. The look of sheer rage on Andrew’s face sent a bolt of anxiety right through his gut, but he held it, returning a glare of his own. “Can I give you a piece of advice, from an ex-villain?” Varian yelled down. “Don’t spout your evil plan for everyone to hear, you fucking moron!”

Trevor spluttered, his face red with anger and indignation, but Andrew held that same fierce look, not even blinking as he glared up at Varian. His silence was more frightening than anything he could have said.

They were nearing the top of the wall. Varian’s heart was hammering, his breathing hard. Beside him on the rail, Owl settled down, hooting proudly.

Trevor continued to yell, but Varian turned away, unable to maintain his staring contest with Andrew a minute longer. As they arrived at the top of the wall, Eugene pulled him into a side hug. 

“Woof. You sure had me worried there, kiddo,” Eugene heaved, putting on a facade of casual banter to mask his own nerves. “Good job with those explosions.”

“Thanks for causing a distraction,” Varian replied a bit breathlessly. 

Before him, Cassandra was silent, avoiding eye contact. The lift creaked to a slow, unsteady halt, and the door along the side of the gear house rolled open. Inside, Crowley was squinting at them uselessly. 

“Wizard? Is that you?” she asked, suspicious and standoffish in equal measure. 

After everything, her cranky demeanor was as welcome a sight as anything. 

“Yeah,” Varian answered, the earliest tremors of adrenal fatigue audible in his words. “We’re back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=EgByLCLyS-Wr_aSyC12fPw
> 
> 1) "Science the Shit Out of This" - Varian creates his doom garland  
> 2) "The Himilayas" - Cassandra and Eugene are confronted by Andrew and his men  
> 3) "Wonder Woman's Wrath" - The camp explodes; the gang escapes


	11. Barrels of Gin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally safe beyond the wall, the trio seeks a place to lie low and come up with a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're gunna get a little comfort goin' in the middle of all this hurt. Worry not--it's only the eye of the storm.

The last dregs of sunlight were fading from the world below them as the trio sat upon the edge of the wall and looked out over Corona. A quick glance over Eugene’s shoulder revealed the column of smoke still rising into the darkened sky, an ode to Varian’s destructive exit from Trevor’s forward camp.

The alchemist in question was sitting next to him, legs hanging over the side of the wall. Just a few feet below them was the rickety staircase down, offering to break their fall should any of them slip, but for once, Varian didn’t seem to be thinking about the heights. He was staring down at Old Corona as one by one the village lamplighter went about illuminating the few streets below. 

Eugene was not an expert in anxiety, but he’d seen Varian do this before. It was some silent, internalized panic attack, one that had come crashing into him as soon as the adrenaline of their escape left a vacancy for it. He said nothing, made no indication that he was struggling, but if the tense quiver in his shoulders didn’t give him away, the fact that he was holding himself too still to try and hide it did. 

“So, let me get this straight,” Cassandra said slowly. She was seated on Eugene’s other side. He had not missed how Varian and Cassandra had avoided being too close to one another since they’d excused themselves from the old woman’s lair. “The curse was meant to infect Varian specifically, but it did not. To the best of your knowledge, it seems to have infected more or less half of the castle at random, and those people are stuck in a loop where they think Varian is the bad guy. And the other half are just… going along with it?”

“Well, what else are they going to do,” Eugene asked, “the orders came directly from the king.”

Cassandra’s frown only deepened with curiosity. “So then the curse had to have been for the king as well.”

Eugene looked over at her expectantly. She threw her hands up. 

“Well you can’t expect a curse to only infect one person if you make it into a gas, that’s just stupid,” Cassandra explained. “Listen, I know I’m new to whatever is going on here, but doesn’t it make more sense for as many people in that library to have been reset as possible? If Trevor wants a war, it’s better if the whole royal family is trapped in the past.”

“She’s right,” Varian said, so quietly that Eugene almost missed it. He looked over at his younger friend, but the alchemist was still staring down at Old Corona, working his way through whatever anxiety had been nipping at his heels since they’d gone over the wall.

“So by that logic, we don’t all need to sneak back to the capital, we just need to sneak  _ Varian _ back there,” Cassandra concluded. “You and I were both on Rapunzel’s side when that all went down.”

“Sure,” Eugene agreed, heaving an exasperated sigh. “But half of the castle and all of the city have  _ not _ been cursed, and even though you left on good terms with the people that matter, you and the kingdom aren’t exactly…  _ simpatico, _ at the moment.”

A silence lapsed between them, tense but not hostile. In truth, Eugene was the only person who had the credentials to get by both the infected and uninfected guards, which was a position that would have baffled him a few years back. 

“So what do you suggest we do,” Cassandra prompted, her tone just a touch too defensive to sound defeated. 

In the moment Eugene took to pause and think about it, Varian slowly turned his head away from Old Corona. “We need to rest,” he said quietly. “I don’t know about either of you, but I haven’t had anything of substance to eat in about a century, and I  _ really _ need to sleep. Besides, I need time to look through Xavier’s potion book.”

“Is  _ that _ what that is?” Eugene blinked at him incredulously. “Why the hell do you have  _ that?” _

Varian looked up at him briefly, a flicker of eye contact before the alchemist swivelled his gaze back to the safety of Old Corona. “It was a birthday present. Xavier gave it to me right before I went to the library, so I forgot all about it. But if it has an antidote to that curse, I have to find it.”

“And Eugene needs to find a bath,” Cassandra said quietly.

Indignant, Eugene straightened his posture and smoothed his hair back. “Excuse you, that’s the smell of  _ adventure. _ And I can’t promise it’s going away any time soon, but I do happen to know a place where we could crash for the night.”

Somehow, this was the comment that pulled Varian more thoroughly out of his episode than their entire conversation about the curse. He peeled his eyes away from his village in order to look at Eugene like he had just said something embarrassing. 

“What, you have something to say, hair stripe?”

A small, amused grin broke out across Varian’s face, hitting Eugene with a relief so potent he smiled too.

“No offense,” the kid said, “but so far the two places you’ve chosen were a dilapidated old mill where we bunked with a pervy snitch, and a barn that had more spiders than hay.”

Eugene huffed. “First of all,  _ all _ barns have more spiders than hay,” he cut back. “Second--”

But Cassandra suddenly climbed to her feet and stretched, abruptly ending the moment. “Not that I haven’t missed the whole ‘team awesome’ thing, boys, but Varian’s right. We need to find a place to hunker down and get a plan together.”

Eugene crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, and I suppose you know where the perfect spot is?”

Cassandra gave him a sly grin. When her eyes moved to Varian, it faltered almost shyly, which was not something Eugene had ever seen on her face before. 

“Yes,” she answered, looking away from the alchemist and pushing passed the moment. “With beds, and food, and even a bath. And I know how we can get there.”

-

Eugene did not want to admit that the plan was obvious. Not for the few citizens that their little cart trundled past, and hopefully not for the guards in Old Corona, but for him. As a seasoned adventurer with a long history as a thief, he should have thought of it already.

They had made quick time legging it around the circumference of the village to the east road. There, they had “made use of” (Cassandra said stole, Eugene said borrowed, Varian told them both to be quiet and focus) a simple wooden cart that had been left along the side of an apple orchard. They had also absconded three apple barrels, dumping one of its contents out to make room for their secret cargo: Varian.

Varian, surprisingly, had not argued with either of them about having to hide in a barrel for however long it took them to pull this off. He’d simply taken an apple, told them exactly where to bring the cart, and climbed in. Whether it was a sign of how tired he was, or how eager he was to get where they were going, Eugene was unsure. Probably both. 

Cassandra had hitched the wagon to Fidella’s harness, and in short order, they were making their way steadily into Old Corona from the direction of the capital. 

As their initial scouting had confirmed, there was no road check in or out of the village, but once they made it past the first few buildings, the number of guards milling about began to grow more and more obvious. Most of them looked tired, boredom replacing the confusion that Eugene had seen in them the day before. These men gave them half-hearted glances, only coming back to life if they recognized the two people driving the cart.

About halfway into town, a voice hailed them. “Captain,” the man said, hushed but relieved. Both Cassandra and Eugene swivelled their attention toward him.

Stan, mustache and all, stood from where he’d been leaning against the wall of the bakery and hurried toward them. “Thank god,” the man heaved.  _ “What _ is going on?”

Eugene felt his own rush of relief at the familiar face, most notably the fact that Stan’s eyes were perfectly clear. “It’s a long story, Stan,” he answered, keeping his voice down, “but you need to know: Varian is  _ not _ an enemy of Corona--”

“No, we know,” Stan replied eagerly. He fell into pace beside the cart for a few feet before Cassandra pulled on the reins to draw Fidella to a stop. “Princess Rapunzel has quietly taken charge of any faction of the guard that wasn’t infected by the curse. There are essentially two armies now: those who are with the king, and those who are with the princess. Those of us who aren’t cursed are under strict orders here to protect the royal engineer if we find him.”

Eugene felt his stomach sink at the news. Unspoken was the fact that they’d be protecting Varian from their fellow soldiers, which did not bode well for their chances if the wrong people discovered them. They’d only been gone for a few days--how far had the division caused by this curse spread?

But Stan was not finished. “The word is that you helped Varian escape. Does that…” he glanced passed Eugene and trailed off, seemingly noticing Cassandra for the first time. The man stalled out, forgetting what he was going to say, and adjusted his posture stiffly. “Cassandra,” he greeted almost robotically, clearly uncertain what to make of this development.

“Stan,” she returned, cordial but also at a loss. Eugene couldn’t allow the uncomfortable moment to distract them.

“Listen,” he said, leaning out of the cart so that he could be heard without having to raise his voice. “You need to gather anyone on the guard who isn’t cursed and prepare them for a possible invasion by Equis. Anything and anyone coming over the wall is suspect.”

“Equis,” Stan repeated, frowning with alarm and concern. “What do you mean?”

“They sent the curse,” Cassandra filled in, economic in her recounting of the situation, “because they want a war. We just got away from them.”

As Stan’s face shifted through the motions of dawning realization, Eugene righted himself in his seat. “I know you and Pete can handle it,” he said, sincere until he watched Stan’s face fall. Eugene stilled. “Where is Pete?”

With a growing air of dejection, Stan pointed down the street ahead of them. Several shops down, the thin man stood at attention, scowling into the night with glowing red eyes. 

“Aw, Pete,” Eugene groaned, dropping back against the board behind him. “I’m sorry, Stan.”

“He’s, uh… Difficult to be around, right now,” Stan admitted. “But Captain… Where is Varian?”

For a moment, Eugene felt abruptly vulnerable, like somehow no matter what he said, everyone would realize Varian was curled up in a barrel behind them, eating an apple and probably wondering why the cart had stopped. But Stan looked at him uncritically, more concerned than anything else. 

“He’s safe,” Eugene answered neutrally. “And we have a plan. Just… Spread the word about the threat, and keep your head down. We need to get to Quirin.”

Stan nodded, grateful for an order worth following. Despite the tension of the last few days, standing around on the cobblestone streets of Old Corona with nothing happening had to have been dull. “I can escort you,” he offered immediately, perking up. He gestured toward the barrels in the back of the cart. “And your, uh…”

“Provisions for the troops,” Cassandra said, “sent by the princess.”

Stan grinned. “Of course.”

Fidella started moving again, the cart creaking as it rolled forward over the uneven street. With Stan walking alongside them in full uniform, the rest of the royal guard stayed back, either seeing Eugene as their captain or--if they were cursed--Cassandra as the captain’s daughter. 

It was easy, in a way that put Eugene on edge. Nothing about the last few days had been easy. Everything that had gone their way was either short-lived or hard-fought, and he had no reason to believe this would be any different. Still, the further they got through the village, the less and less conspicuous he felt, until all at once, they were at the storage building that Varian had told them to go to.

Stan helped roll the heavy door open, revealing a dark interior that smelled of fresh-cut wood and horse. Both Eugene and Cassandra climbed down from the cart and headed around the back to unload.

“Listen,” Eugene said, hauling one of the apple barrels into his arm and handing it off to Stan, “can you tell me anything about the state of the castle right now?”

The man took the barrel without any difficulty and adjusted its weight in his arms. His face pulled into a troubled frown. “It’s… strange,” he admitted. “The princess is keeping things as normal as possible to avoid alarm, but it’s not just Varian’s past that’s been dredged back up. Any spat or argument between anyone from that time is back in the front of their minds. Pete is angry with me for telling him he has no poker face--we haven’t had that argument in years!”

Eugene set his jaw. Every old argument, made more violent by the curse, happening all around Rapunzel, and he wasn’t there to help support her. The guilt only lasted for a fraction of a second, before Cassandra cleared her throat.

“Little help with this one, Fitzherbert,” she requested. She was crouched up in the cart beside one of the two remaining barrels. Eugene snapped back to the present and stepped forward, helping her maneuver the decidedly heavier barrel off of the cart. 

“Easy,” he muttered, before realizing that most people weren’t concerned about being gentle with barrels of apples. “We don’t want to, uh, bruise them. The apples.”

“Nice save,” Cassandra muttered dryly, holding up the other side of the barrel. They walked it carefully into the storehouse and set it down next to the other two, which Stan had managed to carry in before they even got inside. When they stood upright, Cassandra moved to untether Fidella. 

“Stan,” she asked, “can you bring Fidella to the stables and hitch her for the night? Make sure she has something to eat?”

“I… Uh, yes,” Stan agreed, taking the horse's reins from her waiting hand. Cassandra offered him an uncertain but sincere smile.

“Thank you,” she said, earning an awkward nod in return. For a moment, they both stood there on the dark street, unsure of what to say to one another.

It was Eugene’s turn to clear his throat. Every second spent outside was an opportunity for one of the cursed soldiers to suspect something was up. Cassandra snapped out of it, turning away from the awkward interaction as gratefully as Stan did. She joined Eugene in rolling the door to the storehouse closed behind them, and suddenly, they were in the dark, alone and quiet.

Eugene felt his way over to the barrel and knocked on top of it a few times. Almost immediately, the barrel shuffled back and forth on the floor, before the lid popped upward. Warm pink light flooded out of it as Varian stood stiffly, the lid in one hand and an alchemical glow vial in the other. He spit the core of his apple out from between his teeth, onto the floor.

“Oh my god,” he gushed, taking in a deep breath of air, “it is so stale in there, and it _reeks_ of gin.”

“Gin,” Eugene repeated, smiling despite himself as he helped Varian up and over the edge of the barrel. “I thought it was for apples.”

“Barrels are multi-functional,” Varian answered curtly, adjusting his torn and dirty clothing uselessly. “There are some things you  _ should _ ferment, some things you should  _ not _ ferment, and some things that you technically  _ can _ ferment but probably shouldn’t if you don’t want your dad to find it and read you the riot act.”

“And that something is gin,” Eugene ventured. 

“That something is gin,” Varian agreed tiredly, setting the lid down on top of the now-empty barrel. “Come on. The tunnel access is over here.”

He moved through the space as if he were intimately familiar with all it’s nooks and crannies, and maybe after a lifetime of helping haul in harvests, he was. He led the both of them to a hatch in the corner of the storeroom, an unassuming wooden trapdoor in the floor, and gestured at it uselessly. “I don’t want to pop open my other stitches,” he admitted. If he hadn’t been so averse to blood, Eugene might’ve suspected that he was lying to get out of heavy lifting. As it were, the man kept his mouth shut, and hauled open the hatch.

The tunnels beneath Old Corona were somehow in worse shape than those beneath the capital, but Varian did not slow once they got down beneath the village. He was propelled by purpose, leading them around one corner after another, past a chamber with fully functioning water heaters, where Eugene had once seen a younger Varian scramble to stop their predecessors from blowing up. 

“Listen,” Cassandra said from behind him, something suddenly uncertain. “Maybe I should go back to Corona and help Rapunzel.”

“You’ll divide her already divided castle guard,” Eugene replied immediately, shooting the idea down. “Besides, we need your help here.”

Cassandra sounded no less uncertain. “Yes, but… I mean, maybe it’s for the best if I--”

“We’re here,” Varian said suddenly, stopping so quickly that Eugene nearly ran into him. Before him, a ladder extended up to another hatch door above their heads. The alchemist reached out and grabbed one of the rungs, ready to climb, before Eugene could catch him by the shoulder. 

“Hold up, Varian,” he cautioned. “Maybe I should go first. Just to be safe.”

Varian regarded him for a moment before stepping back, relenting. Without another glance toward Cassanda, the man began to climb, steadily to test each rung. 

The hatch opened not like a door, but like a lid, heavy and made of stone. Eugene groaned and put his back into it, hefting the thing up and sliding it to the side. The grind of stone on stone echoed down around them in the tunnel, too loud to keep them from flinching. 

Above, a quiet hallway greeted him. Dark beams of wood crossed back and forth along the white ceiling; the floor was old riverstone, smoothed with age and use; the air was almost peaceful with how still it was. Eugene climbed out slowly, pivoting his head back and forth to listen for any sounds. At least if there was an ambush, he thought, the other two would have a chance to escape.

This was, naturally, the moment that Varian’s head popped up beside him. The alchemist looked around without caution, a carefully held hope clear in his eyes, even in the dark. He hauled himself out of the hatch and stood, looking up and down the hallway for--

A hulking figure stepped into view, one hand at his hip as though he intended to draw a weapon. Eugene reached for his own sword on instinct, his shoulders hiking with tension, and then--

“Dad,” Varian said, the word cutting through the darkness like air escaping a compressed chamber, relief so potent that it threw Eugene completely off his game. The alchemist surged forward, into the surprised and barely-opened arms of the man before him.

“Varian,” Quirin repeated softly, shock clear in his tone. Eugene forced himself to relax. No ambush, then.

As realization settled over the man, Quirin hunkered down and folded his arms carefully around his son, his eyes closing tight. Varian held onto his father for a few long seconds before finally pulling back, grinning from ear to ear. He looked for all the world as though someone had just taken a very heavy burden out of his arms.

“Thank god,” Quirin said quietly, holding Varian by the shoulders. “Are you hurt?... Why do you smell like gin?”

“I’m honestly just exhausted at this point,” Varian answered. If Quirin took exception to the dodged questions, he didn’t show it. The man lifted his eyes away from his son, looking at Eugene with gratitude dawning on his face. 

The expression tightened when he spotted Cassandra, still standing on the ladder, only half emerged from the hatch. 

“I don’t suppose you have any hot water left,” Eugene ventured, an impulsive swing at disrupting the sudden shift in mood. “I will, ah, make it up to you. Eventually.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=0wibHMJmS2-Uzupy-MDSPg
> 
> 1) "Nomadic Life" - Cassandra, Eugene, and Varian take a breather atop the wall  
> 2) "Moving to the Ghetto" - The gang sneaks into Old Corona


	12. The Little Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varian is kept from a well-deserved rest by some inner demons. Cassandra ruminates on her doubts and debts. Quirin and his son have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all doin' okay? Hangin' in there? Would reading some sad character meta help?

Varian eased onto the edge of his bed with a kind of reverence he’d never known before. 

The sheets were clean, cool to the touch. _He_ was clean, which was a decidedly more important development. His injuries had been tended to by the proper and experienced hand of his father. He’d had a full meal, stew with fresh bread on the side, in the quiet darkness of their kitchen, sitting at the table while the hearth crackled with a low fire. 

Going through the familiar motions of ending a day was disorienting. He was home, safe and sound. He was sore, and tired, but if he really focused, he could pretend--if only for a moment--that everything was fine. That the adventure was over, and the threat had been defeated, and all he had to do now was sleep.

This was, of course, not true, but Varian was tired in a way that he had not been for some time, and he knew that he’d be able to sleep even with all that was going on. Even the part of him that wanted to bargain was losing. _If I rig up an alarm to go off at sunrise, I’ll have time to look over the potion manual before--_

No, that sounded terrible. Yes, he was still in danger, and yes, there was still a lot to be done, and the world was not going to let him procrastinate it for long. But hadn’t he earned a good, long, deep sleep? How was he supposed to face the challenges ahead if he wasn’t well rested?

His brooding--was it brooding? Or was he just tired?--was interrupted by a second party hopping onto the bed beside him. Ruddiger rubbed the side of his face against Varian’s elbow, crooning a series of happy chirps.

Varian scooped him into his sore, freshly bandaged arms immediately.

“Man, I missed you, bud,” he muttered, his words muffling as he pressed his face into Ruddiger’s fur. 

And just like that, he stopped caring about everything else. The world outside was tugging him every which way like children fighting over a doll, but in here, he was safe. A bubble made of thick stone walls and his father’s indomitable protectiveness. What’s more, Eugene was right next door, and Cassandra--

Well. Cassandra was a factor that Varian had not yet let himself delve into. As bonelessly as he could without jostling his sore body too badly, Varian rolled onto his side on the bed, still holding Ruddiger close to his chest.The raccoon squirmed out of his limp hold and trotted to the foot of the bed where the blanket had been pushed back, and began the labor of pulling it up over his boy with his two small hands.

Belatedly realizing what the animal was up to, Varian reached down and grabbed hold of the quilt, pulling it up over both him and Ruddiger. “Thanks,” he said softly, receiving only a contented chirp in reply. Ruddiger shuffled about under the blankets, determining the best place to lie, before finally flopping onto his side with his back pressed along the length of Varian’s chest. 

On the bedside table, a single candle flickered hypnotically. Varian closed his eyes and tried to sink into sleep before the worries of their predicament could invade any further, but like a conspiracy, his aches and pains began to protest his lying on his side. For a few stubborn moments, Varian frowned into his pillow, before a low moan of frustration made its way out of his chest.

Defeated, Varian rolled onto his back and scowled up at the ceiling. Ruddiger remained where he was, unbothered by the motion. 

“Everything sucks,” Varian groaned into the darkness of his room. “Ruddiger, why does everything have to suck?”

He was being a child, but Ruddiger had never faulted him for that in the past. The raccoon continued to ignore him in favor of melting into the sheets in order to sleep.

“I mean, I’m happy Cass is back,” he said softly. Alone with only a snoozing raccoon to listen, the act of talking was a great deal of effort, but if he didn’t get the thoughts out, they’d eat him alive. “I mean, I am. I think. It’s-- augh, I don’t know. I’ve done terrible things too, which the world seems _really fucking keen_ on reminding me of right now, and they forgave me for it. _She_ forgave me. But I just… It’s _Cass._ Why can’t I get past it?”

Ruddiger made no reply beside him. How long had the raccoon been pacing in agitation, waiting for Varian to come back? Was he as exhausted and sleep deprived as Varian was?

“I’m being a hypocrite,” Varian whispered into the darkness above him. _So if I know that logically, why can’t my emotions get in line?_

Not that navigating complicated negative emotions had ever been his strong suit, but he wasn’t going to fault himself for trying to be better at it now. As he lay there, miserably turning it over in his mind as sleep continued to lurk just outside of his reach, a thought occurred to him.

What would Rapunzel do?

His eyes widened a bit. Varian was used to moments of clarity while working on experiments and formulas, and was relieved to find one now. _Of course,_ he thought. He should have asked himself that sooner. Rapunzel had seen far more trauma and heartbreak during the conflict over the moonstone, and she had managed to see through it and welcome back the best friend she’d once known. Rapunzel would acknowledge her own feelings, and then work to do what was right in spite of them. After all, if she’d waited until the negative feelings went away, she’d be waiting a very long time.

A sense of peace settled over him as his next steps became clear. Maybe it’d be awkward and uncomfortable, but the first thing that needed to be on Varian’s dizzyingly long To Do list was to talk to Cassandra, the way that Rapunzel would. 

It was enough of a plan to satisfy his overactive mind, at least for the time being. Varian reached around Ruddiger, scooping the raccoon into his side comfortably, and closed his eyes. 

In the meantime, he had big plans of being selfish, and sleeping for as long as fate would let him.

-

If Rapunzel were there, she would tell Cassandra to talk to him. As it stood, Rapunzel was decidedly absent from Old Corona, and Cassandra was set on avoiding Varian for as long as she could.

The following morning, she was up with the sun. Eager to avoid crossing paths with Quirin, she had remained in her room, looking out from the window at the pastoral village below and wondering on what their next steps should be. Standing in Varian’s house, it was difficult to focus.

The last time she’d been here… No, she hadn’t really been present for that, had she? It had been in a dream, one that Zhan Tiri had trapped Varian in. Cassandra had been an unexpected guest, and had done all she could to get Varian to wake up. 

In that dream, Quirin had been a demon in disguise. When she’d next seen him in person, he’d been under the influence of the mindtrap talisman, a mountain of a man with dark armor and void eyes. He had not recognized his own son.

“We need to figure out how to get to the capital without being discovered,” she said aloud to Owl, trying to snap herself into focus. Her companion only tilted his head sideways and regarded her with that infuriating quiet wisdom of his. 

She had done so much damage to Varian, and all of it had been a meer consequence of her goals. She had only wanted the translation for the third incantation, so she’d kidnapped him. She’d only wanted to defeat Rapunzel, so she’d drawn out the Saporian’s kidnapping him and had nearly given him back to Zhan Tiri. She had only wanted to prove herself, so she had used the mindtrap talisman on the Brotherhood. 

It had never been about Varian directly. He’d been a bystander, a victim of circumstance. He’d broken bones, shed blood, been repeatedly traumatized, and for what?

Because Cassandra had been angry at Rapunzel.

How the hell was she ever supposed to look Varian in the eye again? Why would he ever accept an apology for being treated so carelessly, time and again? And here she was, a guest in his home, fed and rested by the good will of a family that by all accounts should run her out of town at swordpoint. 

She stared down at her sword, where it rested across her knees. She had been cleaning it, but the rag had stopped moving some time ago. A queasy kind of anxiety had overtaken her, guilt so powerful that it made her feel sick. What was she doing here? The kindest thing to do would be to leave Varian well alone from hereon out, wouldn’t it? Hadn’t he had enough of her?

But then she remembered the look Andrew had given him, while the lift had drawn them higher and higher up the wall. She remembered Trevor swearing that he would get Varian yet, remembered all those soldiers ready to follow through with their leader’s claim. She’d seen the injuries on his arms, from a cursed king who was out for blood.

She didn’t deserve his friendship, and certainly didn’t expect his forgiveness. But she owed Varian a debt, same as Rapunzel, and if she ever wanted to live down the shame of what she had done, she’d help keep him from further harm. 

After all the hurt she had caused, it was the last she could do.

-

When Varian entered the kitchen around mid-morning, Eugene was standing at the table looking over a map of Corona with his father. Varian had heard their low voices as he’d approached, the two of them swapping information and ideas. The sight of both of them, well rested and in good health, buoyed his already active determination.

“Morning, kid,” Eugene greeted, looking up from the map with a smile. He had clearly taken the time to freshen up his haircut, a fact that warmed Varian’s smile all the more. 

“Hey,” he greeted, turning his smile toward his father. “I’ve been looking over Xavier’s book, and I think I have an idea of where to start with an antidote for the curse.”

Eugene stood upright, spreading his arms wide. “That’s great! I don’t suppose it’s something we can make from things you already have here?”

Varian pulled a chair up and lowered himself onto it stiffly. He spread the open book on top of the map and turned it to face the two men across from him. “Not exactly. I can start the alchemical part here, but since it’s not purely science, it follows different rules.”

He tapped his finger against the page he’d opened to. A dried, pressed flower was tucked in between the hand-written details, it’s faded white pedals partially obscuring a drawing of a human shape with a black spiral in it’s chest.

“The curse draws on the memories and emotions of one person in order to infect others. The curse reflects those feelings and memories into other people, making them relive the experience through the emotional lens of that person’s point of view. Which explains why everyone who was infected was so much angier and more violent than they were when it happened.”

Eugene’s expression fell, his eyebrows drawing together. “If that’s true,” he said slowly, “it means that… someone from within Corona would’ve had to have been the one to make the curse. Andrew was in prison at the time, right? It could have been him.”

Varian found himself shaking his head, his own expression tightening with the uncomfortable truth of it. “He was in Corona, yes. But Andrew only learned the details of what happened after the fact, when I told him; he didn’t have any direct memories of it. If the curse had been made using him, then I think king Frederic wouldn’t be _reliving_ what happened, he’d just be stuck thinking about it all the time.”

“But the anger,” Eugene countered. “Not to dredge up a very recent example, but Andrew isn’t exactly your biggest fan, kid. He has anger for you in spades.”

Varian lowered his gaze to the book, the memory of Andrew’s sharp, hateful eyes flicking across his mind. “I just don’t think it could be him. Eugene, Trevor said something, after you ran into the woods. They were going to remake the curse to try and infect me with it, to reset me too, but he said… he said they were waiting on a spy. I think he means the person who helped them make the curse the first time.”

Eugene’s already dour expression darkened further. “They’re somewhere in the capital, then.”

Varian nodded solemnly.

“Do you have any idea who it might be?”

The alchemist eased back in his chair and shrugged helplessly. “It could be anyone,” he admitted. “Maybe someone in the royal guard? Hell, it could be a civilian for all we know, someone who was impacted by my first attack and angry after I helped the Saporians take over. Maybe the anger is retroactive.”

Quirin, who had been quiet this whole time, stood upright and took a deep breath. “Eugene,” he said, his deep voice weighted with seriousness. “Can you give us a moment? I need to speak to my son.”

Eugene glanced between them, but did not linger. “Sure thing,” he said, moving around Quirin in order to leave the room. He rested his hand on Varian’s shoulder as he passed by, a brief show of support in the wake of this unfortunate development, and then he was gone.

Quirin waited a few moments, a silence settling in between them. Varian, unsure of what to expect, took the opportunity to scoot his chair a little closer into the table, if only to occupy himself.

When he was certain that they had privacy, Quirin took a deep breath and sat down in his own chair, which creaked softly under his weight. “Varian,” he began, his tone careful. “I know that you want to see this through to the end, and I’m proud of all you’ve accomplished so far.”

The _but_ hung between them for a drawn out pause. Varian, sensing it, lifted his chin and began to anticipate what his father was about to say.

“But,” Quirin said, the sternness of a parent shining into his tone, “I cannot allow you to go back to the capital. It’s too dangerous, son.”

Varian stared at his father for a beat before he started shaking his head. “What? No, dad, look. I admit it’s been a bumpy ride so far, but I have to see this through.”

“Varian,” Quirin sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. 

“No, listen,” Varian insisted. “This isn’t going to just go away, and I can _help.”_

“You’re the target at the center of all of this,” Quirin cut back, a hard edge forming around his words. “You had to sneak into your own home in a gin barrel. Varian, if Frederic’s sword had not been a dull ceremonial blade, he could have severed both of your hands!”

“I’m not going to hide here and let my friends put themselves in danger for my sake--”

“Your friends put _you_ in danger!” Quirin said, so abruptly that Varian’s mouth snapped shut. “The black rocks, the moonstone, that damned demon--Varian, I know you consider them close friends, but every terrible thing that’s happened, that _scar on your face,_ is because of them!”

Varian was on his feet before he realized it, his open palms pressed to the surface of the table. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, “but I’ve done terrible things to them, too! Damnit, dad, even without the curse, I still attempted regicide! And now someone is trying to use my selfish actions to attack the very people who’ve given me another chance, and I won’t sit back and let them get away with it!”

Quirin stared at him, his face a storm of unreadable, heavy emotion. “How long will it take, Varian, for you to feel like you’ve made it up to them?”

Varian flinched, but his stubborn defiance did not lessen. He stared back at his father, and felt anger rise and fall in his chest, a reactionary swell that he tamped down as best as he could. 

“I know you don’t want me to get hurt,” he said, the volume of his voice halving. Suddenly, he couldn’t bear to argue with the man. “But I’m not a little kid anymore.”

His father didn’t miss a beat. “Sacrificing yourself for the princess does not make you an adult--”

“I’m not doing this for Rapunzel,” Varian cut back, pressing his open hand to his chest. “I need to do this for _me,_ dad!”

Quirin blinked. He appeared to be at an abrupt loss for words, and Varian pushed his point while he had the opportunity.

“When Andrew took me the last time, I didn’t have any agency at _all._ I was just some passive rag doll who was too afraid to stand up for himself. I can’t… Dad, I can’t be that way again. This situation _sucks,_ but I can do something about it. I can fight back!”

He lifted his eyes, and found in Quirin’s face a kind of heartbreak he had never seen before. The anger from moments ago was gone. 

Varian sniffled, and swiped at his bruised cheek to clear away a single tear that he hadn’t even noticed well up. “I’m not doing this for anyone else,” he repeated quietly, his shoulders falling. “Just me. I’m sick of everyone else trying to decide my future for me. Not Andrew, not Trevor, not this stupid curse. I know it’s dangerous, but… I’d rather be in danger and be making decisions for myself.”

For a moment, Quirin remained silent, watching him. The sadness in his eyes, the thing Varian couldn’t quite name… it almost looked like pride. 

“You’re so much like your mother,” Quirin said softly, after a long pause. 

Varian blinked, caught off guard. When the words sunk in, he felt the sudden urge to cry, but held it back, if only barely. Quirin dropped his eyes to the map on the table.

“I went to see her yesterday,” he admitted. “I found the vial you left.” The man reached into an inner pocket in his vest and withdrew a small glass vial, which he shook back and forth. A gentle pink glow began to emanate from it. “I also learned that the Stabbingtons had been arrested, one of whom still had ice thawing on his face when they hauled him onto a prisoner’s wagon.”

Varian set his jaw. Their run-in with the Stabbingtons felt like a century ago; he’d all but forgotten about the ice bomb he’d defended himself with. 

Quirin turned the small glowing vial over in his hand, studying it without really seeing it. He lapsed back into silence, one that Varian couldn’t bring himself to break. For a few uncertain moments, the only sound in the room was the soft crackling fire in the hearth beside them. 

“Once, before you were born, your mother was confronted by two highway robbers on her way back from the capital,” Quirin said suddenly. Varian, who so rarely heard his father talk openly about his mother, blinked and fell still, as if moving too much would chase the story away before it was finished.

“I hadn’t wanted her to go,” his father admitted. “She was pregnant with you, and showing. But she’d insisted. No one could ever tell that woman what she could or could not do.” 

He smiled softly, a distant look in his eyes, as if he were staring into the past. “They must have thought she’d be an easy target, a pregnant woman alone on the road. But your mother… nothing frightened her. And with you to protect, that had never been more true. The two thieves, they had no idea what they were up against.”

Slowly, Varian lowered back into his chair. He folded his hands into his lap, and made it all of three seconds before he began to absent-mindedly pick at the clean bandages around his left arm.

Quirin took a deep breath. “She went along with it at first. Handed over her bag, and in the process, let slip a pendant from around her neck. The thieves saw it, and demanded she hand it over. She protested, said it was an heirloom, which only made them want it more. When she finally relented and handed them the necklace, she took a big step back, and asked them to please not get it wet, because the gem would grow even larger, and ruin the metal frame it was in. The frame, she said, had been made by her grandmother, and was more precious to her than the stone inside it.”

Gently, Quirin placed the vial down on the map, casting a small circle of pink light over Old Corona. “Of course, a larger stone means more gold, so they took out their canteen, and upended it onto the pendant.”

Varian watched as his father idly turned the vial, lost in the memory of his wife. The alchemist leaned forward in his seat a few inches. “What happened,” he prompted quietly.

“It exploded,” Quirin said simply. “There was never any magic pendant, but your mother knew when it came in contact with flowing water, the chemical reaction would make it explode.”

“An alkali metal,” Varian said in quiet awe, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“She carried it for protection,” Quirin said. “Because she was smarter than any thief out there. She took her bag back, and continued home, leaving the two thieves groaning and disoriented on the road.”

Varian looked down at the glowing vial, his small smile fond and warm with humor. They both sat in the moment, temporarily placated by the memory of his mother, until Varian’s smile faltered with confusion. 

“You’ve never told me that story before,” he said quietly. “Why now?”

Quirin took a deep breath and reached up to rub the back of his neck. “I worried about your mother all the time. Even long after she proved to me that I didn’t have to. I’d spent all my life as a protector, as a guardian. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to turn it off. No matter how brilliant she was, I saw your mother as small, and vulnerable, and I suppose… I suppose I could say the same about you. But she used to say to me…”

He paused, hesitated, and then laughed, which only served to further Varian’s confusion, but he was hanging on the possibility of learning more about his mother, and wasn’t going to ruin it for himself by taking exception to his father’s words or interrupting him. 

When Quirin finally looked at him, it was with a smile. “She always used to say, ‘I may be little, but it’s the little things in life that end up screwing you over.’”

For a moment, Varian only stared at him. He tried to imagine his mother saying such a thing, and found it at once easy and natural to do. The smile returned to his face, albeit a little breathless as he processed this new side of his mom. 

Quirin shifted in his chair, taking another deep breath. This time, it had an air of finality to it. “I will never stop worrying, Varian. And I will never stop getting in your way in an attempt at protecting you. But if your mother were here right now… I suppose she’d tell me to go chop some wood and mind my own damn business, so…”

He trailed off, not quite able to give verbal approval of Varian’s decision. It went unspoken, but that was okay. Varian gave him a watery smile. 

“Well,” Varian said lamely, sniffling again before clearing his throat. “I guess I have some people to go screw over, then. In her honor.”

“In her honor,” Quirin agreed quietly. He leaned forward, his chair creaking beneath him, and patted his son’s knee reassuringly.

“I know I can fix this, dad,” Varian said. “And I know I won’t be doing it alone.”

While it did not undo the progress their conversation had made, Quirin did give him a wary look. “Be honest with me, Varian,” he said. “Do you trust Cassandra?”

It was Varian’s turn to take a deep breath. His eyes drifted first to the map, if only to avoid his father’s imploring gaze, and then to the open potions book before him. For a moment, he said nothing, remembering the turmoil he’d worked through the night before. He still had plenty of mixed emotions--there was still a lot that was unresolved. But there again was the question, quiet in the back of his mind: what would Rapunzel do?

She’d give Cassandra another chance, as she’d already done. As she’d given Varian, even after all he had done to her family.

“I do,” he admitted, more to himself than his father. “She protected me from Zhan Tiri, even if her motivations weren’t selfless. And in the end, she gave up her life to help resolve the problem she’d created. I don’t know exactly how I feel about her, but… I’d be a hypocrite for not giving her another chance.”

Quirin studied him closely, his expression once again impossible to read, before he nodded. If he was going to give his son the benefit of the doubt, he’d have to start here. 

Outside in the hallway, tucked behind the wall and hidden in a cast shadow, Cassandra stared hard at the floor. After a moment, she turned and slipped silently back upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=GrUbLWWKSCSPJoY_wHg5jQ
> 
> 1) "Postcards" - Varian has some trouble falling asleep  
> 2) "An Old Friend" - Cassandra stews in her guilt  
> 3) "Meeting Miriam" - Varian and Quirin disagree, and find common ground


	13. Hurry Up And Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the castle, things take a turn for the worse. In Old Corona, the gang forms an actual, feasible plan. The pieces begin to fall into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter Is Mostly Exposition Dumping And I'm Sorry
> 
> Listen, the important thing is that after this, we can sprint unabashedly into action and whump, which you want to read and I want to write. We'll get through this together, gang.

When word of the conflict brewing on Corona’s border reached the castle, it was Queen Arianna who called a meeting. Frederic, still oscillating between furious calls to arms and relief at rediscovering his wife at his side, could not be relied on to react appropriately to the threat at the wall. 

Beside her, Rapunzel was glowering down at a large map of Corona and her neighboring kingdoms. Her daughter had never made her contempt for Trevor private, even if she had been measured in how she expressed it. To learn that the neighboring monarch was taking an opportunistic strike at them was only fueling her anger with the man. 

“He either contracted them just for the curse, or they’re in league with one another,” Rapunzel was saying. “I don’t see any difference. An alliance with the Saporian Separatists is a clear message either way.”

“But your Highness, we cannot possibly hope to respond appropriately in the state we’re in,” Nigel replied, a touch of desperation in his voice. “His Majesty isn’t in his right mind, and with our guard torn in two, we aren’t in a position to declare war.”

“I don’t  _ want _ to declare war,” Rapunzel insisted. “If Trevor is behind this, then he’s trying to bait us into it. Sending the curse was the first part of his plan. If we can reverse its effects, we can get everyone united under a banner of reason and show Trevor that Corona won’t be messed with so easily.”

Arianna took a deep breath. “That’s why I invited Xavier, Rapunzel,” she said. “We’ve known about a growing threat from Equis for some time.”

Green eyes swiveled toward her, blank for a moment before hardening with a frown. “... What? Why wasn’t I told?”

“It was anticipatory,” Xavier explained, speaking for the first time. He stood along the other side of the table, his hands tucked respectfully behind his back. “We had no way of knowing if King Trevor would act or not, but we chose to be prepared in the event that he did.”

“I cautioned against telling you,” Arianna admitted, watching her daughter closely. “I’d hoped it would never come to fruition. Up until the library, we had no reason to think Trevor was anywhere near prepared to act on anything.”

If Rapunzel’s anger was lingered at all toward her mother, she didn’t indicate it. She merely turned her eyes back toward the map, a deep frown of concentration on her face. For a moment, they stood in silence, until she had gathered her thoughts. 

“Our priority needs to be a cure to this curse,” she eventually said, refusing to look up from the lines of roads and highways below her. Her posture carried a tightness that Arianna had not seen since Cassandra had been wielding the moonstone.

“On that front, I have some good news,” Xavier offered gently. His kindly old eyes regarded Rapunzel with sympathy. “I recently had in my possession a book, which detailed many ancient potion recipes. I believe the remedy to this is somewhere in its pages.”

Rapunzel perked up. “That’s great! Is this the same book you showed us the other night?”

The old blacksmith shook his head, but was undeterred in his optimistic tone even when Rapunzel’s shoulders fell. “I gave the book to Varian,” he explained. “It was a gift for his seventeenth birthday. I did not realize how crucial it would be, until now.”

This perked the princess’s attention back up, as realization dawned on her. “That’s-- That could expedite this whole thing, if Varian has it!”

“Perhaps,” Nigel said carefully, “but does the boy know that the solution to this mess is in the book?”

“We can get word to him,” Arianna replied, “wherever they are. Lance knows Eugene, he might know where they’re lying low.”

“Your Majesty,” Stan interrupted. He’d been a forgotten addition to this small meeting, if only because he had been too out of breath to participate when he’d first arrive with the news. “They may be as near as Old Corona.”

All eyes swiveled to him, with varying reactions. Rapunzel looked immediately concerned. Stan cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I, uh. Don’t know for certain that they’ve stayed there. Only that’s where Captain Fitzherbert told me about the small force on the other side of the wall.”

Rapunzel set her jaw and glanced toward the map once again, at the small spot marked  _ Old Corona. _ “Was he okay,” she asked quietly, a momentary break in her hardened facade.

“In good health, and in the middle of a plan,” Stan answered confidently, standing upright. 

Something deep inside of Rapunzel relaxed, a tension she hadn’t realized she’d been holding since Eugene had vanished from her sigh in the library. “And Varian?”

Stan’s expression tightened. “I didn’t see him, your Highness. But the Captain reported he was alright.”

The tension loosened even further. Rapunzel felt her shoulders lower, if only a little, but something in the guard’s expression told her he was holding something back. She raised her eyebrows, a silent prompt for him to continue, which he did after an uncertain moment.

“Well, um… Cassandra was with him, princess.”

For a moment, one could have heard a pin drop. Rapunzel blinked at Stan, slow to process the information. Several reactions flashed through her chest at lightning speed, impulses of alarm, relief, confusion, all swirling together in a thrill that ran up her spine.  _ Cassandra. _ It had nearly been a year. Had she returned now because she’d heard of the turmoil? 

It hardly mattered, Rapunzel realized. If Cassandra was here now, the odds were tipped even more in their favor. A smile pulled unconsciously at the corners of her mouth.

“Well then.” She turned her focus yet again to the map, this time with a bright gleam in her eye. “We don’t know what they might be planning,” she admitted. “But Varian and Eugene are both brilliant problem solvers. And if Cassandra is with them, Varian is even more safe. We have to trust that they can handle whatever is going on on their end. They’ll undoubtedly be looking for a cure too.”

Arianna put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder supportively. There was a lot hanging unsaid, a lot of implications that had to be ignored for the time being. “Rapunzel is right. We can only focus on what’s in front of us. The fights that are breaking out between the cursed and the uninfected are only amping up. This anger, it’s going to splinter us into factions if we can’t get it under control soon.”

“I have a proposal for that, your highness,” Nigel said, his tone slightly cautious as if he were testing the temperature before submitting the idea. Arianna looked at him expectantly. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should close off the castle. If the infected spread out into the city, it will only serve to create more chaos.”

This has already been done to a degree, but so many staff in the castle had families outside its walls, and a full quarantine had been avoided for their sake. Arianna set her jaw. “I don’t know that it would help to completely isolate the castle,” she said slowly. “The curse doesn’t appear to spread from person to person, and to lock the doors would spread fear of a different kind through the city.”

“Perhaps,” Nigel agreed. “But word of the curse would create a far worse panic. To say nothing of the confusion it would create.”

Rapunzel lifted her attention from where she had placed a small flag marker next to Old Corona. She was inclined to agree, and was drawing a breath to do as such, when the doors to the room flew open.

“Your Majesties,” a guard gasped, doubling forward and holding onto the handles of the double doors to support himself, “another curse-- has gone off-- in the west wing!”

Rapunzel stood bolt upright, anxiety shooting through her stomach. “What?”

The man, quickly recovering his breath, straightened and looked at her with urgency clear in every inch of his being. “A package was opened in the west wing. The handmaiden opening it thought it was only lye, but-- but it erupted with that red smoke! Your Majesty, far more people have been infected, they’re all starting to lapse back into the same memories as everyone else!”

“Oh my god,” Arianna exhaled quietly, just as Rapunzel stepped away from the table.

“Has the smoke cleared,” she demanded. When the soldier hastily confirmed that it had dissipated, the princess set her jaw and took a deep breath. “Cordon off the area and make sure we find everyone who's been infected. We need to do damage control.”

“All the more reason to quarantine the castle,” Nigel said abruptly. “We must discover how that package was brought in and prevent any more from arriving!”

Arianna looked toward the flag that Rapunzel had placed near Old Corona, and traced her eyes along the road that led to the capital. Her ears were ringing with alarm at the sudden news, the fresh memory of her husband’s state rising in her mind. The image of Frederic drawing his sword and slashing at Varian--the cry of alarm and pain the boy made, the blood she’d seen from across the room, the anger in the glowing eyes of the infected guards--if it was spreading, if their enemies had somehow gotten another bomb into the castle, then they couldn't afford to wait. Not if more were on their way.

She drew a deep breath, and made her decision. “Quarantine the castle,” Arianna ordered. “We cannot rationalize pacifism if we're under open attack.” 

She looked to Rapunzel, who had turned her full attention to her mother. Arianna could see the disagreement warring in her daughter’s eyes, the desire to honor her peaceful nature at odds with the sudden development and its implications. Ultimately, she said nothing. 

“I pray it won’t escalate any further,” Arianna said, commanding the room with her quiet voice. “But as of this moment… Corona is at war.”

-

It was an hour until sundown, when the cover of darkness would give them their best shot at getting to the capital. Throughout the day, Varian had been oscillating between deep research and sporadic cat naps, something that seemed less intentional than it did inevitable after the few days they’d had. Eugene had taken the same cue and slept where he could, but each nap only offered brief reprieve from the problem at hand.

They were in the kitchen again. Quirin had some bread baking in the stone oven, small loaves for them to take when they did set out, but the man had not joined them. This seemed to be the only arrangement that ensured Cassandra  _ would, _ since the two of them were avoiding one another to the very best of their combined abilities. 

To her credit, Cassandra was entirely focused on the task at hand. The day before, atop the wall, she had seemed deeply uncomfortable with being around Varian, but now she stood across the table from him and discussed details of the plan as though it were business as usual. Eugene wasn’t sure what had happened, but he wasn’t about to complain. 

“Let’s look at this with a clear head,” she was saying, a verbal reset to the most recent rabbit hole they had gone down. It had been Eugene’s fault--he’d asked how magic and science could be combined, and Varian had only barely contained himself in his explanation.

Cassandra spread her hands out on the table. “You said the antidote won’t undo what the curse did. What do you mean by that?”

Varian lifted the beaker containing the solution he’d made a few hours prior, and gave it a gentle swirl. “Near as I can tell, the original curse had two components. The chemical one, which was made into a gas and dispersed from that box in the library. The second has to be a foci, something that gives its wielder control over those who were infected. This,” he said, holding the jar aloft so they could see the liquid inside, “is essentially the same thing, but without the magical component that makes people susceptible to the foci’s influence.”

“And put in simple terms, that means…” Eugene prompted, rotating a hand to prompt Varian to continue. The alchemist gave him a dry sideways glance.

“It means the first wave of smoke had a sedative in it that made people too zonked out to fight off the curse’s influence. This is the same sedative, only without the evil magic. It’ll make people really sleepy so they won’t come running at us with meat cleavers again until we can destroy the foci.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “So the plan is to sedate everyone to get them out of the way, find the foci, and destroy it. And  _ that _ will end the curse.”

“Yes.” Varian set the beaker down and tapped his finger against the cork stopper wedged in its mouth. “Which solves the smaller problem, but not the bigger one.”

“That we don’t know who the spy is, or where the foci could be.” Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose. “And how are you going to get this sedative to everyone who was cursed without them stabbing you?”

At this, Varian grinned, a mischievous glint that Eugene hadn’t seen in awhile. Usually, the look portended something exploding. For the first time, Eugene was thrilled to see it. “Actually," Varian answered, "I know how to do that. See, the curse was made into a gas in order to infect as many people as it could,” he explained. “So we’ll have to do the same with this sedative. And I know exactly how to get it to disperse throughout the castle.”

“We’re trying to save people, Varian, not fumigate for mold,” Eugene countered. 

Varian looked undeterred. “This might actually invite mold,” he admitted. “I think if we strain the boilers below the castle, and inject this into the water supply, we can build up enough pressure that the pipes will start leaking steam all over the castle. It’ll dose everyone with the sedative.”

Cassandra and Eugene stared at him. Varian rolled his lips together and waited patiently for them to process his idea. 

“You…” Eugene tilted his head to the side. “You want to deliberately sabotage your hot water boilers and ruin that whole network of pipes.”

“Look, if there’s one invention that I know inside and out, it’s those boilers. After all the mistakes I made while perfecting them, I know exactly what they can handle and exactly how to sabotage them without blowing them all up. The joints of the pipes that run throughout the castle are sealed and leak-proof to a degree--if we build up the right amount of pressure, they’ll split just enough to release steam into the whole palace. And so long as the steam is filled with this sedative, it’ll work beautifully.”

Cassandra lifted her hands as if she were calming a rowdy crowd. “Okay, assuming that idea works--which is an absurd thought--what keeps  _ us _ from turning into zombies?”

Eugene swiveled his gaze back to Varian expectantly, but the alchemist was wearing that mischievous smile again. “This,” he said simply, holding up a small flower.

It was dried and pressed, looking like it had spent at least a few years tucked between the pages of a book. It’s pedals had been white in a previous life, but they were now faded and tinged brown with age. Varian held its brittle stem carefully and gave it a little twirl.

“It was right with the recipe for the antidote. According to the notes, it can stave off the sedative, and by extension, give whoever consumes it a far better chance of not being affected by the curse.”

Eugene leaned in and squinted at it closely, frowning. “Well… Okay, I’m not about to argue with a magic flower after all I’ve been through. But why didn’t you put it into the antidote?”

Varian pulled a face, uncomfortable and disappointed in equal measure. “Well, there’s no way to know if it can  _ undo _ the curse once it’s already infected someone. And also, uh. There’s just not enough of it? I only have the one, and the book says the flower only grows in Neserdia.”

“Perfect,” Cassandra muttered. She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled off into the middle distance, thinking. “You said Trevor and Andrew wanted to infect you with the curse?”

“Mm,” Varian hummed in uneasy confirmation. “Which means the spy might have the same goal.”

Eugene stood upright, stretching out his lower back and taking a deep breath. “Okay. So, we split the crispy magic flower between the three of us, get into the castle, ruin my shot at having a nice hot shower when this is over, and destroy the foci to end the curse. One problem, gang: who is the spy?”

He was answered with an uncomfortable silence. It was the one piece they didn’t have, the missing keystone to their plan. Varian’s eyes lowered back to the map on the table before them, the dullest wave of anxiety passing over his features. 

Cassandra cleared her throat. “I’ve, uh. Been thinking about that,” she admitted. “Listen, I know that it’s a weird thing for me to talk about, given… you know.” She trailed off awkwardly for a minute, unable to look in Varian’s direction. It hardly mattered--he kept his eyes glued to the map. Eugene looked between them and held his tongue. 

“But,” she continued, pushing past the moment stubbornly. “I don’t think the spy is just some citizen, or nameless member of the guard. I wasn’t around for the whole Saporian takeover thing, so I might be wrong, but… When you attacked Corona, Varian, it was mostly just castle staff and the royal family who were impacted, and really only the royal family who had reason to be really angry with you. And we know it’s not any of them.”

Varian kept his eyes on the map, picking at the bandages around his left arm. Guilt rolled off of him in waves. “I don’t think that rules out the guard,” he countered quietly. “There are plenty of people that don’t think justice has been served for what I did.”

Eugene opened his mouth to protest, but shut it before he could speak. Varian wasn’t wrong--there were people throughout the castle who gave him sideways glances, uneasy with Varian’s potential for chaos. Eugene had never seen it approach anything like violence or hate, but that didn’t mean someone wasn’t harboring it. Varian had committed treason only a few years ago, and was now being invited to peace summits and state dinners. Young or not, there were those who disagreed with it.

But the look on Varian’s face, the miserable way that he held himself, as if he were three times smaller than he already was, was difficult to look at. There may have been people who resented Varian for what he did, but no one was as hard on him as he was on himself.

“Well hey,” the man said, breaking through the tension with forced levity, “let’s not forget, Rapunzel is working on this too. For all we know, she’s figured out exactly what’s going on.”

Mercifully, this seemed to buoy the mood. Varian gave him a brief, grateful smile before rubbing at his bandaged injury and looking back to the map 

“Let’s hope so,” Cassandra said. “Because we don’t even know what the foci could be, and even if we manage to sedate the entire castle, it won’t last forever. We'll be on a clock to figure it out. ”

“It would have to be on or near the spy for them to maintain control over the curse,” Varian said. “If we figure out who it is, we can figure out the foci.”

The three of them stood and looked from one another to the map to the beaker on the table. There were several more just like it already packed into Varian’s bag, potent enough to be effective for their plan. For a few moments, no one spoke. Outside, the last of the sun had drained from the sky. 

It was time to go.

“Anyone else feel like we could use another few hours to make this plan less flimsy,” Eugene asked. 

“A few  _ days _ would be nice,” Varian replied quietly. 

Cassandra uncrossed her arms and straightened her posture. “Well, we can keep workshopping it on the road. You guys ready?”

She finally looked them both in the eye, her question hanging heavily around the table. 

Eugene and Varian exchanged a look. After everything they’d been through over the last few days, it would be difficult to leave the first safe harbor they’d found. At least with a better understanding of what they were facing, and a plan forming on the go, they had something to keep them motivated.

Varian took a deep breath, and nodded. “Yeah,” he answered. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=fRzag-KyRB-LOdhdL2im1Q
> 
> 1) "This World" - Rapunzel and Arianna try to hash out what to do next, and are interrupted by bad news  
> 2) "Industrious Insects" - Varian, Eugene, and Cassandra figure out a plan


	14. Push Comes to Shove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio sets out for the capital. Old problems come back to haunt them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hark! An update!

“I don’t see how this is supposed to help,” Cassandra was saying, regarding Eugene with an amused look that simultaneously said  _ ‘you’re an idiot’ _ and  _ ‘don’t stop on my account’. _ Eugene ignored her, keeping his sword held aloft as he walked, poised as though he were about to lunge into battle.

“The key when you’re starting out is flair,” the man explained, jutting the sword out ahead of him in as straight a line as he could manage while walking. “If you can convince your opponent that you know what you’re doing, you can get an edge.”

Varian walked alongside him, observing his stance with overt skepticism. On his shoulders, Ruddiger tilted his head curiously at Eugene’s showboating.

“That’s terrible advice, and I can’t believe you’ve lived this long,” Cassandra said flatly, rolling her eyes. “If you’re going to teach someone how to fight, at least start with the basics.”

“Basics take time,” Eugene replied curtly. “Which we do not have.”

Varian sighed. “No offense Eugene, but I don’t think anyone is going to look at me and think ‘that kid can probably fight with a sword’. Especially not anyone in Corona.”

Eugene took a few more flowy stabs at the invisible enemy before him, shuffling sideways as they walked. “Not if you walk around with  _ that _ attitude.”

Cassandra heaved a sigh, loud enough to signal the end of the discussion. “We should be focusing on--”

Before she could finish the thought, the toe of Eugene’s boot caught against a rock, sending him sprawling onto the path in front of them. Cassandra blinked, one hand instinctively going to her sword on the assumption that a hostile force had tripped him. Varian clapped a hand over his mouth, muffling his sudden burst of laughter. 

Eugene pushed himself into a seated position and scowled up at both of them. “Oh, I’m fine. Don’t all rush to help me at once.”

While Varian laughed beside her, Cassandra blinked down at Eugene with a raised eyebrow. “You still think you’re cut out for teaching Varian how to defend himself?”

“That rock came out of nowhere,” Eugene cut back, gruffly accepting her hand and getting back to his feet. He brushed himself off, but in the dark of early night, he was dusting off more indignity than dirt. He shot a pointed scowl at Varian and Ruddiger, who were both still laughing. “And anyway, we should be prepared for anything, don’t you think, Cass- _ an- _ dra?”

“Believe me, I agree,” she answered easily. “But what works for one person doesn’t always work for another.” She started walking again, prompting the others to follow. As she moved, she reached into Fidella’s saddlebag and withdrew a small sheathed blade. Without looking directly at him, she held it out to Varian.

The alchemist was still chuckling, his lips pressed together to try and quiet it under Eugene’s look of warning. When Cassandra’s offer appeared before him, his expression sobered. 

For the briefest moment, he regarded it with an open wariness that he couldn’t quite hide. If Cassandra sensed it, she didn’t let it deter her, holding the sheath out with stubborn insistence. 

Varian took it from her carefully.

Cassandra kept her gaze averted. “We need to be realistic. People look at you and see someone small and easy to overpower, but you’re not. I think we’re all well aware how stupid it is to underestimate you.”

As she spoke, Varian gripped the handle and cautiously pulled the knife from its sheath. The blade was about six inches long, stainless steel with a wicked curve and teeth near the base. Varian turned it over, a small reflection of moonlight glinting off of the blade and passing over his face. From his shoulder, Ruddiger cooed in appreciation of the shiny new object.

Cassandra cleared her throat subtly, only slightly awkward in her pause. “You should fight with what you’re comfortable with. And if alchemy fails, this is… insurance.”

Varian looked up, so suddenly that he managed to catch her eye. For a moment, they stared at one another, something complicated and confusing passing between them. Cassandra abruptly looked away.

“Thanks,” Varian said quietly. He considered the hunting knife for a moment longer before a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and a small laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in his chest. “I guess it really is the little things that end up screwing you over, huh?”

“Get that on a business card,” Eugene deadpanned, pointing at Varian with a finger-gun snap. “Suits you to a T.”

Varian sheathed the knife and hooked it onto the side of his belt, his fingers a little clumsy as the motion pulled on his fresh stitches.

The road stretched out ahead of them into the forest, hard-packed dirt with two ruts worn into it from years of wagon traffic. Each rut was filled with damp petals, white in the moonlight even after being crushed by wagons throughout the day. Now, with the road empty of any travellers besides them, the wagon wells looked like two unbroken white lines, all the way to the curve in the road a mile ahead.

Except for one spot, about twenty yards down the road. Owl, who had flown high and ahead to be on the lookout for trouble, was circling the spot on the road, hooting in warning.

A separate set of wagon tracks veered off into the undergrowth of the forest. This wasn’t entirely unusual--sometimes a cart had to move off the road to make way for another--but as they neared the interruption, it looked less deliberate and more accidental. The brush alongside the road had been torn asunder, evidence of a rogue cart veering into the woods.

Cassandra had her hand on the hilt of her sword as they approached, on edge as soon as Owl had begun to hoot. Peering into the darkness beneath the canopy of the trees, the rough shape of an overturned wagon began to reveal itself as they drew near. 

“It tipped over,” Varian said quietly, just as Eugene stepped forward and put himself between the alchemist and the crash. 

“What the hell happened,” Eugene asked, voicing the obvious question on everyone’s mind. The wagon was about fifteen yards into the woods. Cassandra stepped off the road a few paces before stopping, signalling her companions to do the same. 

For a moment, quiet settled over them, tense and uncertain. Was this something worth investigating, or had it been highwaymen from days ago who were long gone?

In the darkness, a voice answered the question. It was weak and panicked, a man stuttering for help not far from where the wagon lay. In the dense undergrowth, it was impossible to see where he was, but Varian flinched in mild panic nonetheless.

As desperate as the strange voice sounded, Cassandra did not move. Her shoulders were tense, her body poised to spring into action. Varian had no idea what she’d experienced over the last six months, but she wasn’t about to rush to the aid of a man she could not see. 

Eugene had fewer reservations, drawn forward by his innate drive to help. He stepped around Cassandra with his sword drawn and moved cautiously into the ferns. “Who's there,” he called, stepping slowly and deliberately forward.

“Help,” the man repeated, more clearly this time, “oh, thank god, please help me! I can’t get it off of me, my legs, they’re-- they’re trapped--”

As the stranger rattled on in a voice choked with panic, it became easier to identify where he was. Around the side of the wagon, a large dark shape was heaped on the ground, blocking their view of the man.

Reluctantly, Cassandra had begun to move forward, unwilling to let Eugene walk into potential danger alone. Varian knew better than to stay alone by the road, and so he hovered close behind her, his hand returning to the handle of the knife that he’d only just attached to his belt. 

As they neared, the large shape that obscured the man became recognizable. It was a horse, lying dead on its side. Eugene stepped around it, close enough to see now that the man’s legs were pinned beneath the great animal. 

As Eugene moved to help him, Cassandra stepped close enough for both her and Varian to see. The man was wearing the armor and insignia of Corona’s royal guard.

“Captain,” the man gasped, open relief in his voice, “thank god!”

“Martin,” Eugene asked incredulously, floundering in only a brief moment of confusion before he squatted and began to heft the horse’s flank a few precious inches upward, so that the man in question could drag his legs out from underneath the carcass. “What the hell happened?”

Cassandra stepped forward, one hand still lingering on her weapon. Her focus was entirely on Eugene and the discovered soldier.

Varian’s, however, was not. He was staring at the wagon, recognition dawning on his face. Even with the vehicle overturned, the barred door on the back was still clear as day. 

“The prisoners,” the soldier gasped. “We were escorting them back to the capital, and they--”

“Prisoners,” Eugene repeated, looking toward Varian briefly with a frown, which only deepened when he saw the strange look of panicked realization on the alchemist’s face. With everything that was going on, it was jarring to be reminded that normal crime and policing was still happening around the kingdom. 

“Who were you transporting,” Cassandra asked, making herself abruptly known to the soldier. The man--Martin--blinked owlishly at her in the darkness, clearly surprised to see her in the middle of such a terrible night.

Varian answered for him. “The Stabbingtons,” he said quietly, gaining the attention of all three people as Eugene helped the man to his feet. 

Cassandra’s gaze swivelled back and forth between Eugene and Varian as she processed this. “The Stab-- wait. Don’t tell me they’re mixed up in this too.”

“It’s a long story,” Eugene said, anticipatory tension returning to his shoulders.

“They tried to kidnap me so they could ransom me to Trevor,” Varian answered. “We beat them in a fight and ran before they got arrested.”

“Okay,” Eugene cut back, “maybe it’s not that long of a story.” He turned to look at Martin. “They escaped?”

Still winded from however long he’d been struggling to get out from under the dead horse, Martin nodded. “Y-yes sir, some time ago. They’re long gone by now, I’ve been-- I’ve been calling for help for hours, but no one--”

Eugene drew his sword, his gaze sweeping through the dark trees. “Was anyone else with you?”

At this, Martin paled. “Yes sir, but he… Sanders had those red eyes, sir. The prisoners said something about the royal alchemist being nearby and he took off running.”

“Would they go back over the wall,” Varian asked quietly, looking toward Eugene with pleading eyes. Eugene took a slow, deliberate breath and readjusted his grip on his sword. 

“They know about the curse,” Cassandra said quietly, thinking out loud. “And they’re clearly using it to their advantage.”

Eugene nodded stiffly, still scanning the dark forest. “They were answering a bounty, not working directly for Trevor. And they had no way of knowing that we would go over the wall  _ toward _ the guy who wants to kidnap you.” He glanced at Varian, who was anxiously picking at the new bandages on his arms while staring at the barred door. “If the bounty is good, they’ll keep looking for you.”

At this, Varian lifted his eyes away from the overturned prison wagon and looked at Eugene directly. “So you’re saying that somewhere between us and the capital are the Stabbingtons?”

“Why does it always come back to those two jackoffs,” Eugene grumbled, more to himself than anyone else. “Martin, are you alright getting back to Old Corona on your own?”

Stiffly, the man snapped to attention, his training overwhelming his exhaustion. “Yes sir.”

“Good,” Eugene nodded. “I need you to gather a group of men and get a search party out immediately. No one with red eyes, either.”

“Right away, sir,” Martin answered stiffly, nodding. For all his obvious fatigue, the man seemed determined to see the order through, and he stepped awkwardly around the group back toward the road. He slowed only for an uncertain moment to consider Cassandra, and then Varian in turn. 

“Are you… Captain,” the man asked, finding it in himself to do so, “are you three going to be alright? I know it’s not my business, but the cursed men are talking about… they’re saying some alarming things about what they’ll do to Varian when they find him--find  _ you,” _ he tacked on awkwardly, looking toward Varian with a flustered expression. “And I-- are you sure you don’t need men with you?”

If Varian paled at the information, it wasn’t obvious in the darkness of the forest. Eugene stepped carefully around the fallen horse and joined the other three near the back of the overturned wagon, his expression steely and determined. 

“I appreciate it, Martin,” he answered, “but we need stealth on our side. The best thing you can do is keep the cursed soldiers from hurting anyone and find the Stabbingtons.”

Martin nodded stiffly, snapping once again to attention and saluting. “Yes sir. Best of luck, sir. And to all of you.”

With one last hesitant glance at Cassandra, and a look of genuine concern toward Varian, Martin turned and moved at a fast clip into the darkness of the forest, toward Old Corona.

The trio stood beside the scene of the accident for a few moments, letting this new information sink in.

“Well,” Varian said quietly after the pause grew too long, “this isn’t ideal.”

Eugene drew a loud, deep breath and stepped away from the fallen horse toward the road. Both Varian and Cassandra fell into step beside him. “Look,” he said, “we’ve spent the last few days outpacing the entire royal guard. I think we can avoid those two morons for a few more hours.”

At this, Varian groaned loudly.  _ “Please _ knock on some wood. Our luck has been so shitty, don’t tempt fate.”

When they stepped out of the trees, Owl fluttered down and settled on Fidella’s saddle. The horse had remained on the road, mercifully spared from the sight of a fallen comrade, but she looked no less concerned than the rest of them. 

“Now, come on,” Eugene chided, trying to force some levity back into the conversation, “what’s with this ‘glass half empty’ schtick?” He fanned out his fingers one at a time as he rattled off a list. “Finding Cassandra, beating Andrew and finding out about that potion book,  _ and _ getting a hot bath? I think we’re doing pretty well for ourselves so far.”

Varian lightly swatted his arm with the back of his hand. “Seriously, knock it off. The more positivity you spew out, the more likely it’ll be that the Stabbingtons waltz right out in front of us.”

“Oh, sure,” Cassandra said dryly, “just say that out loud. Invite them.”

Suddenly the road ahead appeared ominous in the moonlight. For an uncertain moment, the group stood beside the old worn wagon tracks and let the new information sink in. 

“Should we leave the road?” Cassandra asked quietly. 

Eugene looked at her with something close to incredulity. “I’m sorry,  _ you’re _ asking  _ us _ that? Miss Military Tactics?”

Cassandra turned a warning look his way. “What? You know the Stabbingtons better than anyone. Would they set up a trap on the road, or expect us to go through the forest?”

“Guys,” Varian said quietly. His small voice was easily ignored. 

“If I knew what went on in the horrorscape of their minds, do you think I’d have as many run-ins with them as I do,” Eugene defended. 

“Well you’re the ‘captain of the guard’,” Cassandra cut back, flexing her fingers in air quotes around the title. “What does your training tell you, Fitzherbert?”

“Guys,” Varian tried again, more urgently. But it had been months since Eugene and Cassandra had had a proper showdown, and many months more since Cassandra and Eugene were free of enough baggage to properly square off, and they weren’t about to be interrupted now. 

Eugene planted his hands on his hips, almost mockingly. “I’ll have you know, there’s nothing in the Coronan procedural manual about how to keep your surrogate brother alive when the entire kingdom is under some Saporian murder curse--”

“Oh, please, your resume is almost entirely winging it while doing crime, surely you have an extra brain cell in that hairdo of yours to come up with something--”

Varian stuck his arm in between them, if only to get their attention visually. “Stubs is standing behind us with a knife.”

Abruptly, both Eugene and Cassandra forgot about their argument. Both turned around with startled expressions, hands moving unconsciously to their weapons.

About ten yards back the way they had come, a single man stood in the middle of the road, backlight by moonlight. Even in the dark of night, he was visibly on in years, with unkempt clothing and a greasy smile. His eyes were locked unflinchingly on Varian.

“Friend of yours,” Cassandra asked, her sword once again scraping out of its sheath. Eugene promptly drew his as well.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Eugene groaned.

“Afraid not, Rider,” a deep voice answered behind them, in the direction they had been travelling. The trio whipped around again to find Sideburns standing in the middle of the road, a resolute wall of muscle and spite, his own grin malicious with anticipation. 

“Are you  _ serious,” _ Eugene asked incredulously, spreading his hands wide. “You two morons have just been hanging out by the scene of the crime all day? What kind of idiot plan is that?”

From the trees to their right, on the opposite side of the road as the overturned wagon, a third voice joined in. “An idiot plan that has you walking right into our trap,” the twin with the eyepatch answered, emerging from the dense undergrowth. Cassandra swept her arm out in front of Varian as she surged forward to position herself between them.

Eyepatch was grinning, but nothing about his appearance seemed worthy of a smile. In the pale moonlight, the side of his face was scarred a fresh pink from Varian’s alchemical ice bomb. If he hadn’t already lost his eye, it’d certainly be gone now. At the sight of the damage, Varian took a half-step back, his arms drawing close to his sides in an unconscious move to protect himself. 

“Well,” Eugene said, his voice too loud and too confident, “jokes on you assholes, because I just sent my man Martin back to get a search party out here. Thanks for making the job so easy.”

The confident smile on Eyepatch’s face did not falter. Rather, a look of mock sympathy passed over his freshly-injured features. “Aw, shucks, Flynn,” he said, his tone entirely too amused. “Was that a friend of yours?”

While he spoke, he jerked his thumb back up the road, in the direction of Stubs. The man in question laughed, the kind of raspy sound someone can only make after a lifetime of smoking and bad choices, and lifted up a long hunting knife for them to see.

It was stained red.

“Heard you came back over the wall,” Eyepatch explained, amusement clear in his voice as he watched realization dawn on their faces. “It’s funny, how eager the red-eyed guards are to forget our indiscretions so long as we can tell them where to find a certain little  _ rat.” _

He looked toward Varian, his one eye glinting dangerously. The alchemist sank back into Cassandra’s shadow. Ruddiger curled his tail around Varian's neck and raised his hackles, hissing in warning at the redheaded man.

“You son of a bitch,” Eugene said, his voice low and loaded with an unspoken threat of violence. 

“Aw, no hard feelings, Rider,” Sideburns cut in. “We don’t get our bounty if those soldiers get their hands on the kid.”

“So why don’t we make this quick,” Eyepatch agreed. “We owe Stubs his reward for helping us, and the kid’s gunna scream the whole time. Clock is ticking.”

Eugene pointed his sword directly at Eyepatch, his face an uncharacteristic mask of rage. “Don’t make me kill you, Patchy.”

There was no trace of insincerity in his tone. Only a dangerous promise.

Eyepatch’s grin sharpened. “Oh,” he said quietly, as if the moment had played in his mind a thousand times and was finally becoming a reality. “I’d love to see you try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=iHJzyWJNTZiIDzVBxpwSmg
> 
> 1) "Kristofferson's Theme" - Eugene tries to show Varian how to sword fight, and trips / Cassandra gives Varian a knife  
> 2) "Plane-Wrecked" - The trio finds the overturned wagon and investigates  
> 3) "Cornered" - The Stabbingtons reveal themselves


	15. Highwaymen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stabbingtons attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, the US is a dumpster fire and I've had some protesting to do.

1.59 seconds to cover the ten-yard distance between him and Stubs. 

0.23 seconds for the goo bomb to rupture and expand to capacity. 

4.68 seconds to drop his backpack to the ground and dig inside for something to use.

Numbers and variables moved through Varian’s mind faster than cognizant thought. He was acutely aware of the limitations that came with having all his gear inside of a backpack, inaccessible at a moment’s notice. There were three pink goo bombs in the outer side pocket of his backpack, the only option within reach. In front of him, Eyepatch had drawn his weapon. They were fractions of a second away from violence.

Varian reached back, grabbed a pink bomb, and chucked it right past Cassandra’s ear at Eyepatch. It wasn’t necessarily a thought-out gesture, but something had to break the mounting tension, and after the events of the last few days, Varian was no longer waiting on the sidelines. 

Eyepatch sliced his sword through the air, bisecting the pink sphere. He sidestepped to avoid most of it, but some of the chemical still slopped across his shoulder, firming up in a sticky adhesive foam. It didn’t immobilize him, but it distracted him, if only for a moment.

Everyone moved at once. With Cassandra’s cover, Varian veered backward and slung his backpack off of his shoulder. He could hear the clash of swords, was aware that somewhere to his left, Stubs was running forward. Ruddiger leapt from his shoulders and a formless shout of pain sounded out too close to him as the raccoon clawed at Stubs’s face without mercy. 

Varian had sacrificed so many useful chemicals in order to blow up Trevor’s camp, and he could only restock a few of them with all the sedative he was carrying for the castle. He had a few chemical bombs, their vibrant colors shifting around in his bag. What was the best tactic? By force of habit, he grabbed another pink goo bomb, feeling it’s potential against his palm. 

Ruddiger yowled, and Varian’s heart leapt into his throat. He turned, knees pivoting in the dirt where he knelt on the road. Stubs had Ruddiger by one of his back legs and was swinging him with the intention of throwing him. 

Varian moved without thinking, shoving to his feet and running at an angle to intercept his companion before he hit a tree. He only barely managed to catch the small animal, Ruddiger’s name falling from his mouth as he wrapped his arms tight around his friend. The raccoon managed a dizzy chirp to confirm he was alright, before rapid footfalls approached.

Stubs was running at him, hands up and ready to grab. Varian’s backpack lay on the road, back by where Cassandra and Eyepatch were squaring off. In his hesitation, he hadn’t grabbed anything to defend himself with beside the pink bomb in his hand, and if he threw it now, he’d be caught in it too.

Without a solid plan and with no time to make one, Varian bolted into the trees. He held Ruddiger to his chest as he moved, swerving around obstacles and leaping over huge ferns and undergrowth. In no time, he arrived at the overturned prisoner carriage. If he could just get it between him and Stubs, he could shake the guy, buy some more distance, come up with a plan--

Only two feet shy from the carriage, a fist grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him awkwardly to a halt. Varian cried out, startled, feeling himself get pulled backward toward the man. Another hand grabbed his bicep, clamping down hard to hold him steady.

Quick as a whip, Ruddiger launched from his arms and landed fangs-first against Stub’s neck. The man yelled again, rearing back, and Varian managed to break free of his hold. This time, Ruddiger leapt back to Varian’s shoulders before the attacker could get the upper hand, and the alchemist went stumbling forward. 

The prison cart was on its side, but whole. The barred door at the rear was hanging open, latch broken. If he could get Stubs inside of the wagon, he could seal it with the goo bomb. 

Varian didn’t stop moving. He scrambled through the ferns around the side of the wagon, narrowly skirting the horse carcass where it lay on the forest floor. One more obstacle for Stubs to have to get around, one more thing to slow the man down.

The alchemist skidded around the back end of the wagon and leapt over the tongue, which lay like a fallen tree at an angle down to the earth. Just as he did so, he heard Stubs trip and fall, his formless sounds of startled frustration signaling how much space was still between him and Varian.

“Ruddiger,” Varian whispered fiercely, “Can you get into the wagon and make noise? Draw him in, and get out. I’ll do the rest.”

Asking his small companion to do something so risky would ordinarily not cross Varian’s mind, but the sounds of swords clashing were only getting more violent, and Stubs wouldn’t stay down for long. With a firm nod, Ruddiger was up and out of Varian’s arms in an instant, leaping onto the top of the tipped wagon and out of sight. The alchemist pocketed the small pink alchemy bomb, and braced himself. He was committed to the plan now, whether it was his best idea or not.

Varian looked over his shoulder just in time to see Stubs stumble into view. The man was terrifying in the darkness, all unkempt edges and sinister intent, chasing wordlessly after him. Varian made haste getting around to the far side of the wagon, his heart pounding against his ribs as he moved. 

He had to time it right. Stubs had to see him run around the back end of the wagon, but couldn’t be too close to catch on to what he was up to. Just as he was sure Stubs was rounding to his side of the wagon, Varian skirted around behind it, out of view one again.

With effort, he grabbed hold of the bars on the back door and lifted it up. It was far heavier than it looked, especially hanging down into gravity’s pull, all iron bars and solid oak. Still, he hoisted it enough for Ruddiger to jump down from above and skurry inside. Deliberately, Varian dropped the door and let it slam shut again, a loud sound that carried through the undergrowth of the forest easily. Quick as he could, he ducked around the side of the carriage again, completing the circle before he pressed his back to it and held his breath.

He could hear Stubs reach the back door, could hear Ruddiger shuffle and scratch inside the wagon. It wasn’t the perfect ruse--Ruddiger was far too light to mimic the sound of Varian’s weight moving inside an enclosed space, but the evidence--the door slam, the noise inside--was enough to fool Stubs. Varian could hear him laugh, an open and frightening sound without a tongue to shape it. The man grunted with the effort of lifting the door. 

Varian took as deep a breath as his racing heart would allow, and leaned around the corner. Stubs was ducking underneath the open door, his front half leaned into the pitch darkness inside the wagon. He was still laughing, clearly thinking that he’d cornered Varian somewhere he couldn’t escape. It helped masked Varian’s footsteps as he came up behind the man.

The door was the real barrier. Stubs was holding it up, but Varian would have to take over that weight if he wanted to shove the man inside without being brained by it in the process. Drawing on every fiber of determination he could find, Varian steeled himself, and moved. 

He grabbed the door with both hands, bracing the heels of his palms against the underside. In the same motion, he brought up his boot and drove it into the middle of Stubs’s back.

Startled, Stubs tried to correct his balance and ended up tumbling head-first inside the wagon. Out of the blackness, Ruddiger leapt out at Varian’s side, a small gray blur. Quick as he arrived, Varian stepped back and let the door slam down into its own frame. Varian withdrew the goo bomb from his pocket and threw it at all his might at the seal of the door. 

Two filthy hands gripped the bars of the door and shoved, but the pink foam expanded further still before finally slowing and hardening, trapping Stubs inside. The criminal snarled in rage, reaching through the bars to try and grab at Varian, but the alchemist was too far away.

Breathing hard, Varian backed up slowly, staring at Stubs through the bars. Ruddiger leapt onto his shoulders, chirping victoriously. 

“Come on,” he said on an exhale, not even pausing to enjoy his success. Pivoting, Varian started back toward the road, back toward his friends. Stubs’s angry growling faded behind him.

The moon wasn’t full, and what light it did offer hardly made it through the canopy above. It had made the discovery of the overturned prison cart all the more threatening, and had hid the Stabbingtons quite effectively up until their reveal. But now Varian was the one emerging from the trees, and he was going to use the stealth it offered to his advantage. 

As he neared the treeline along the road, he couched low in the ferns and tried to assess the scene.

To his right, Eugene and Sideburns were locked in wordless combat. Eugene was fighting in quick, aggressive strikes, his stance coiled tight with an anger that was obvious even at a distance, even in the dark.

To his left, much closer to where he was hidden in the shadows, Cassandra and Eyepatch were circling each other slowly. It was clear from the sweat that gleamed on their brows that they had already taken a few passes at one another, but neither seemed to have gained the upper hand just yet.

And not far from where they were squaring off, Varian’s backpack lay forgotten on the hard-packed dirt road. 

“Bud,” Varian whispered, as loudly as he dared. Ruddiger tutted softly next to his ear. “Can you grab my bag and drag it into the ferns without being seen?”

Another tut, and the raccoon’s weight vanished from his shoulders. Varian crept forward in a crouch, trying to close in on the bag so his small partner wouldn’t have to pull it too far. Before him on the road, a conversation was unfolding.

“It’s ballsy of you to show your face in Corona again,” Eyepatch said, low and amused.

“You’re one to talk,” Cassandra cut back, taking the opportunity to adjust her grip on the handle of her sword as she paced slowly to the right, her eyes never once leaving her target. Eyepatch’s grin pulled wider.

“Attempted regicide? Conspiring with a demon? Overthrowing the kingdom? If you weren’t hanged for any of that, I have nothing to worry about,” Eyepatch sneered. In a quick jab, he swung his weapon toward Cassandra, who blocked it neatly. 

Varian winced as their swords met a few more times in rapid succession before they returned to their slow predatory circling. Further down the road, Eugene and Sideburns were still going at it, wordless except for the occasional brief insult.

A rustling beside him startled Varian’s attention away from the fight. Rudder appeared between some ferns, struggling to drag his bag through the undergrowth. A rush of elation filled Varian’s chest as he grabbed it up, pulling the top of the bag open and digging around inside. There wasn’t a moment to waste.

“Face it,” Eyepatch grunted, slamming his sword down with enough strength that Cassandra had to dodge to the side, slowing her reaction time. “You’re the worst of all of us. You only started playing for the good guys again because you lost your powers.”

“You son of a--” Cassandra started, twisting to bring her sword up too soon, her arc too wide, too high. She was reacting: Varian could hear it without looking, could see it in her posture. It was the opening Eyepatch needed, the one he had been fishing for, and before Varian’s eyes, the brute took it. 

He slammed his sword against Cassandra’s, throwing the force of her blow to the side, before bringing his boot up and slamming it into her ribs. With a grunt of surprise, Cassandra was forced back, landing hard on the dirt road. Eyepatch hefted his sword up above his head, his muscles flexing with the strength of a killing blow. 

Varian’s hand closed around the first vial he could find in his backpack. Without thinking, he surged forward out of the trees, emerging into the moonlight just a few feet away from the two adults.

His sudden appearance startled Eyepatch into a pause. Varian didn’t waste it. “Hey shithead,” he snapped, “nice face!”

Cassandra rolled out from under Eyepatch’s sword and flipped to her feet, drawing her own weapon back to the ready, but it went unseen. Eyepatch was staring at Varian, a sort of wolfish grin pulling onto his face, made freakish with the fresh scarring from the alchemist’s ice bomb. His sword lowered. 

“There’s the little rat,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. It came out in a snarl, something deep and dangerous in his tone, before he adjusted his stance and ran at Varian.

Varian held his ground, drawing back his arm to throw the chemical vial, but in the same breath, Cassandra was there between them, her sword driving up against Eyepatch’s to block him. She managed a few more blocks, her blade twisting back and forth in tune with his, but where the Stabbington brother was amused before, he was overtly determined now. The fact that Varian had bested him only a few days prior--had done so at the cost of another facial scar, no less--was driving Eyepatch forward with unstoppable force. 

Unconcerned with Cassandra, Eyepatch simply rammed into her with his full weight, shoving her violently away with a sweep of his massive arm. It effectively removed the obstacle between him and his goal, and before Varian could recalibrate, the mountain of muscle and anger collided with him.

The ground slamming into his back was of little consequence compared to Eyepatch’s sheer weight pressing down on him. Varian writhed to get out from beneath him, managing to take half a breath before a large hand closed around his windpipe and cut him off.

Eyepatch grabbed the vial out of Varian’s flailing hand and flung it into the woods away from them, intent on not repeating their last engagement. Varian squirmed, choking audibly. His hands flew up to grab at Eyepatch’s grip, but the pressure was unyielding.

“I owe you for this,” the man growled, tapping his freehand against the fresh scarring on his face. “How should I go about it? Maybe,” he mused, giving Varian’s throat an experimental squeeze and smiling when the alchemist gagged, “you have something in your little bag of tricks that will melt skin.”

Varian’s nails dragged across the backs of the man’s hands, but the grip didn’t loosen. He could feel his face grow pink, could hear his heart thrumming in his ears. His head began to throb from lack of oxygen--his lungs burned for it. Momentarily, he was struck by the memory of vines around his throat, tightening by the second, a demon dragging him to hell--

Instinct is a funny thing. Varian was a planner, a schemer. He plotted and prepared. Impulse had never been his friend when it came to experimentation. But in the same instant that he thought of the vines, something deep and ingrained took over. The need to survive suddenly outweighed rational thought.

He let go of Eyepatch’s hand and reached down to his belt. His fingers found the sheath of the knife Cassandra had given him, and he pulled it free. 

“Or maybe I should take out one of those pretty blue eyes,” Eyepatch was saying, ignorant of the deep instinct that had welled up within his prey’s chest. 

Varian turned the handle of the knife around in his hand, pointing the blade directly at the man’s flank with every intention of driving it between his ribs as deep as he could. With his heart pounding in his ears, he arched his back, trying to leverage as much force into the blow as he could, before--

With a grunt, Eyepatch jolted to the side. He released Varian’s neck and rolled, the heel of Cassandra’s boot having just caught him in the ear.

Thoughts of stabbing the man vanished from Varian’s mind. With the option suddenly returned to him, the alchemist could only think of breathing, of sucking in as much air as he possibly could. He rolled onto his side away from his attacker, wheezing and coughing. 

He heard the distinct sound of a cork popping free, and then water splashing down. Eyepatch spluttered, gasping as he reared further away. “What the-- what the f--” he gagged. Varian pushed himself onto his knees, still breathing hard, and turned to see what was happening.

Eyepatch was soaked. In her hand, Cassandra held one of the bottles of sedative meant for the castle. It was half-empty. 

The Stabbington brother slumped back, growing increasingly disoriented by the second. In the span of only a few breaths, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell unceremoniously onto his back, out cold.

Cassandra turned toward where Varian knelt. “You okay?”

The alchemist rubbed at his throat, staring at Eyepatch, half expecting the man to sit right back up. “Stellar,” he rasped. Cassandra stepped forward, stooping enough to gently take Varian by the arm and guide him to his feet.

“Go help Eugene,” she recommended, holding out the bottle for him to take.

Varian looked at her with blank confusion He was still holding the knife in a death grip, his heart pounding and his hands starting to shake. Cassandra slowly uncurled Varian’s fingers from around the knife, taking the blade from him in exchange for the bottle.

She said nothing. She was watching him carefully, but the moment was quickly dissolving, made brief by the sounds of Eugene and Sideburns still going at it. Varian forced a deep breath into his lungs and turned away. 

The other Stabbington twin was in a standoff with Corona’s captain of the guard. Both men were breathing hard. Despite Eugene’s swift victory the other day, Sideburns was holding his own now, motivated by a more immediate need for revenge. Eugene’s back was to Varian as the alchemist approached.

“I’m getting real goddamn tired of your face, Burnsie,” Eugene growled, raising his sword in preparation for the next round of combat.

“And I can’t wait to ruin yours, pretty boy,” the man sneered back, his own sword at the ready. They both sank into position, bracing for the other to strike. In the moonlight, the sweat on their brows was noticeable even in the cool night air.

They didn’t have time for this, Varian realized. If he announced himself and teamed up with Eugene, it would drag the fight out even longer. And as numb as he was to how close he had come to stabbing Eyepatch, Varian wasn’t eager to get back into a fight of any kind. 

So he let instinct make the decision again. Varian drew back his arm, took aim, and flung the bottle directly at Sideburns.

It went whizzing past Eugene, close enough to startle the man, and found its target right in the middle of Sideburns’s forehead. The man went reeling back, startled and in pain as the glass broke on impact with his thick skull, sending the rest of the sedative spilling down his front. 

“What the hell,” the man shouted, swiping at his face aggressively to try and clear his eyes. He stumbled, swayed, squinted at Varian as he came up alongside Eugene.

Eugene, for his part, stared at Varian with open bafflement, his sword dropping to his side. He only looked away when Sideburns stumbled again. Like his brother before him, the man’s eyes rolled back in his head as he tipped backward. He dropped like a falling tree, unconscious before his back hit the ground.

For a moment, Eugene merely stared, looking between the alchemist and his fallen enemy. Varian swallowed, wincing at the soreness in his throat, and simply shrugged at him.

“... Well,” Eugene eventually said, his shoulders dropping. “That was… pretty anticlimactic, I’m not going to lie.”

“Speak for yourself,” Varian replied dryly. 

“Where is Stubs,” Cassandra asked, walking up behind them. She had left Eyepatch where he lay once she had tied him up. Varian gestured vaguely toward the trees.

“Trapped in the, uh. The cart, in the woods,” he answered. “With goo.”

Cassandra only offered a small amused “huh” at the news, but Eugene had turned his attention back to where Sideburns lay on the road. His surprise at Varian’s intervention was gone, and his expression had hardened with returning anger. 

For a beat, no one spoke. Eugene was usually so cheerful after a victory--this stoic silence was markedly odd. 

“Eugene,” Varian asked after the moment stretched on for too long. The man turned to look at him, his expression set. 

“Listen,” he said slowly, looking down the road to where Eyepatch lay. He was clearly struggling with a decision, and both Cassandra and Varian stayed quiet while he worked it out. “I… I gotta go look for Martin,” he said. “He might still be alive. And someone has to get these guys back to a cell in Old Corona.”

For a moment, Varian stared up at him, not processing what was being said. Cassandra reacted before Varian could shake off his surprise. “Take Fidella,” she offered. “No sense leaving them out here, even if they’re knocked out and tied up. She can handle both of them.”

“Wait,” Varian said quietly, frowning.

“Thanks,” Eugene sighed. He avoided Varian’s eye for only a moment before looking at him directly. 

There was no room for argument in his face. Varian set his jaw and took a careful breath. 

“I know I promised I’d keep you safe,” Eugene said quietly, resting his hand on Varian’s shoulder. “And I swear, as soon as these guys are taken care of, I’ll catch up, and we can take on this curse together. But I have to do what’s right for the people of Corona, and...”

“I get it,” Varian interrupted, offering Eugene an unconvincing smile. “You gotta do what’s right.”

Eugene’s expression strained a bit. “I promise I’ll find you both as soon as I can,” he reiterated, stressing his sincerity. His grip on Varian’s shoulder tightened protectively. 

Varian surged forward, wrapping his arms around Eugene’s chest in a quick, tight hug. The man returned it with equal ferocity.

“You look after him,” Eugene said to Cassandra, who had stepped back to let them have their moment. 

“Roger that, Captain,” she said with a grin, though her posture appeared a bit uncertain in the dark. 

Varian stepped back from the hug and took a deep breath. Eugene smiled down at him reassuringly. “Don’t kick the spy’s ass without me,” he insisted, lifting a finger of warning toward the alchemist. 

“Don’t drag your feet,” Varian cut back, earning another smile from Eugene. 

“And for the love of god, don’t get kidnapped again.”

“I’ll try my best,” Varian chuckled, his heart aching at the thought of continuing on without Eugene.  _ It’s only temporary, _ he told himself, struggling to believe it. 

“We’ll meet you at the forge,” Cassandra said, placing her hands on her hips. “We can use Xavier’s cellar to access the tunnels and get to the boilers.”

Eugene nodded, squaring his shoulders in the moonlight. He drew a deep, audible breath. “Good,” he agreed. “I’ll see you both in a few hours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=Z-opKanwTKeRKKM1MFcs1g
> 
> 1) "Englander" - Varian VS Stubs  
> 2) "The Red Book" - Cassandra & Varian VS Eyepatch  
> 3) "New Day" - The party splits up


	16. Rooms With Elephants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varian and Cassandra set out on their own. Old laundry finally gets aired.

For Cassandra, the last year of her life had been an unceasing lesson in humility. 

She knew--had known her entire life--that nothing was ever simple. She had not expected the aftermath of her actions to be anything other than complicated. And despite Rapunzel’s unceasing optimism, forgiveness from the rest of the kingdom had been far from forthcoming after all she had done.

In the face of that anger and resentment, a younger Cassandra would have been resistant, stubborn, argumentative. After all, she had spent so much time feeling vindicated in her anger, insisting to herself that what she had done was justified. But at the end of it all, stripped bare of any self-righteous ideals, that resistance was nowhere to be found. 

Once she had accepted that she had been wrong, she had no defense for what she’d done. And all that criticism, all that anger and hurt? What could she do but sit quietly and accept it?

This was, of course, easier to do from afar. With Corona at a distance, she could lie awake at night and reflect on all she’d done, and take her time dealing with the fallout. But ever-present was the understanding that once she returned-- _ if _ she returned--the harm she had caused would be far more immediate.

What she had not anticipated was exactly how immediate that shame would be with Varian.

They had walked in silence for some time. The forest was quiet, the nights still too cold for insect songs. Aside from being vigilant of dangers, there was little in the way of a buffer between them. The discomfort was palpable. If Cassandra had known exactly how much of a buffer Eugene had really been, she would have insisted he stick with the group.

Glancing to the side, Cassandra caught Varian rubbing at his throat. Absurdly, she was struck by how much taller he had grown since the last time she’d seen him. Taller, with more defined features. He was still small by most standards, was still Varian, but for the first time, Cassandra realized how easy it was to imagine him as an adult. She could see how his jaw would shape out, how his cheeks would lose the last of their baby fat. 

He had grown up. When was the last time she had really spent time with him as a friend? Two, three years ago? Before the automatons, she realized abruptly. Back when Varian was only a child, hopelessly naive and free of any social filters. Back when he was trying on friendship for the first time, and trying so hard to be good at it. 

She had missed everything in between.

“Do you think we’ll be able to get across the bridge,” Varian asked suddenly, his quiet voice jarring Cassandra from her thoughts. She blinked and looked at him more directly.

“How do you mean?”

He was still frowning into the middle distance, but his expression looked more decisive now, more analytical. “We don’t really know if the curse is communicable or not. If everyone in the capital has those red eyes, crossing the main bridge will just bottleneck us.”

At once, Cassandra felt embarrassed. She had been wasting valuable planning time thinking about things she could not change. Uncomfortably, she cleared her throat. “It’s the most direct route. If we take a boat and Eugene takes the bridge, he’ll probably get to Xavier’s before us. He might think something happened.”

Varian took a moment to think before he responded, a careful plan unfolding before him that Cassandra could not see. “Maybe we can stow away in one of the trader carts that come in from the surrounding villages for the morning market. They usually set out before sunrise.”

Cassandra paused to consider it. He was right: it was the option with the least risk, provided they didn’t get caught sneaking into a cart. “Sounds good to me,” she replied with a shrug. “Then I guess we should stick to the road, since it’ll--”

“We should cut through the--” 

Both of them stopped short, having not expected the other to speak. 

“Sorry,” Varian said quietly, “you go.”

“No, no,” Cassandra replied, her tone uncertain and a little rushed, “you go first.”

There was a pause. Both of them cleared their throats, trying to push past the uncomfortable moment.

“I was gunna say, we should cut through the west fields. They haven’t plowed them yet, and that way we can bypass the river fork where that guardhouse is.”

For a second, Cassandra wanted to disagree. Sticking to the road would be faster, even if it meant passing more people. But the unsettling memory of their last long journey together came to the front of her mind, and she held her tongue. Varian had followed her blindly the last time, had trusted in her to get him to safety, and she had nearly sold him out to Zhan Tiri. 

Maybe she should take a step back, this time. 

“That’s a good plan,” she said, avoiding his eye. “You know the way?”

“Yhep,” Varian answered, mirroring her discomfort. For several minutes, they continued in silence, following the road. With each step, the desire to change the subject, to talk for the sake of talking, nearly overwhelmed her. She desperately wished Eugene was between them.

Apparently, Varian felt the discomfort mounting too, because after the silence dragged on for too long, he heaved a sigh. “Cass, I think we should talk,” he sighed.

“I’m sure we’ll find a cart to hide in,” Cassandra answered, too loud, too insistent, as if being assertive would chase the impending conversation away. “There’s still that guy that sells the scarecrows, right? We’ll blend right in.”

But Varian’s troubled expression didn’t change, except for the slightest lift of his eyebrows. He took a long breath as though he were about to dive into deep water. “Not that,” he said, though they both knew what he was referring to. 

Cassandra sighed, and turned her eyes away. “I know. But can it wait until we get this curse thing sorted? There’s enough going on right now, don’t you think?”

Once, Varian would have shrugged and relented. Once, he would have stuttered out that he understood;  _ of course, we can circle back around, no problem, sure thing, Cassie _ .

“No,” he said now, assertive but not outwardly aggressive. “Listen, we’re both uncomfortable, let’s just… acknowledge that. This,” he gestured between them, “is awkward. And weird. And we need to talk about it.”

_ Someone’s been spending a lot of time with Rapunzel, _ Cassandra thought. Some part of her had missed it, that unflinching acknowledgement of uncomfortable truths. The rest of her wished very badly to be able to continue on in awkward unacknowledged bliss.

“Okay,” she sighed, her tone betraying how uneasy she felt. “Fine.”

Then they both lapsed into silence. After it stretched on for an awkward amount of time, she realized that Varian expected her to say something. 

_ Goddamnit. _ When had this kid become so mature?

“I… Look,” she began, starting and stopping as though something invisible were trying to squeeze the words out of her. “There’s a lot between us, I know that. And I don’t expect you to forgive me, or the shit I did, or  _ didn’t _ do. You’ve gotta feel how you feel, and you shouldn’t put any of that on hold just because this whole mess is going on, so it’s fine if you hate me for it. I mean… What I’m saying is, I get it.”

“I don’t hate you,” Varian interrupted, looking at her curiously. “Do you really think that?”

With elevated eyebrows, Cassandra finally looked directly at him. His expression matched his tone, all surprise and confusion. She opened her mouth to say…  _ something, _ she didn’t know what, when a voice down the road interrupted her.

“You there,” a woman called out suddenly. “The both of you, halt!”

Maybe a hundred yards ahead, a trio of soldiers were walking their way. Each wore their full Coronan armor, gold and red with vaulted helmets firmly in place. All three were carrying halberds, which glinted in the moonlight as they moved. 

But more noticeable than anything else was that even from the distance they were at, all of them had glowing red eyes that cut through the night like a harborlight.

“Shit,” Varian exhaled, stopping short. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Cassandra said, equally quiet. 

“State your names and business,” the woman called, hefting her halberd as she approached. “Why are you on the road at this hour?”

Cassandra hesitated. Did they run? Did they try to talk their way around it? If the three of them got close enough, they’d recognize Varian. Was Cassandra about to fight three Coronan guards before she even set foot in the capital?

It wasn’t often these days that she missed having the black rocks at her command, but she certainly did now.

“We’re just out robbing people,” Varian called back. “You know, normal villain stuff. What about you?”

It startled Cassandra so badly that her mind went momentarily blank. The guards also slowed in their approach, caught equally by surprise. 

“What the hell,” Cassandra demanded, looking at her companion with open indignance.

Varian looked nothing short of resolved. “We can’t fight them, and we can’t reason with them,” he replied, not looking away from the advancing guard. “Running is the only option anyway.”

“‘Normal villain stuff’?!”

He looked at her with narrowed eyes and a shrug. “Oh,  _ forgive me _ for needing a break from all this drama!”

“Varian,” Cassandra cut back, alarm rising as the guards lowered their halberds and began to advance on them with purpose, “if they catch you, they’ll kick the shit out of you!”

“They can get in line,” he said, throwing his hands up. “Follow me!”

With that, the alchemist took off running into the woods. The three guards all shouted for him to stop at once, surging forward in their loud, clattering armor. Cassandra looked back and forth between them before groaning loudly and taking off after Varian.

_ “I  _ might kick the shit out of you for this,” she warned, loudly enough for him to hear from the distance he was at. 

It was enough of an effort just to keep up with him through the dark woods. Cassandra pumped her legs hard, easily vaulting over fallen trees and dense areas of undergrowth, but to her surprise, Varian managed to keep ahead of her. She could hear the guards behind them, far slower and less confident in the dark. 

Ahead, the sounds of a rushing creek grew closer. She could hear an  _ oomph _ ahead, followed by the sudden absence of Varian’s footfalls, but no splash--rather, she could hear him land on the opposite bank and continue on.

_ When the hell did he get athletic, _ she thought, a grin pulling at her face despite the situation. She leapt over the creek in short order, gaining on Varian now as the forest opened up some.

“Do you have a plan, or are we just running,” Cassandra called, Varian coming into close view now. He didn’t bother looking over his shoulder. 

“Just running,” he panted. “Not every plan I make is going to be a masterpiece, okay?”

“Hey,” Cassandra laughed, “no judgement, just don’t trip!”

Somewhere behind them, back by the creek, the sound of a halberd spearing the earth signalled how far behind the soldiers had fallen. She could hear distant splashing, coupled with the surprised shout of one of the guards who had misjudged either the width or the depth of the creek. 

“Actually, I lied,” Varian said suddenly, a realization hitting him. “I know where to go!”

“Yell that louder why don’t you,” Cassandra said, coming up alongside him. Varian’s teeth flashed in the moonlight as he gave a breathless laugh. The guards were growing further and further behind them.

It wasn’t how Cassandra had planned on weaseling out of a heart-to-heart. But if fate was going to give her the out, she would take it.

-

“... Absolutely not,” Cassandra said as soon as the lantern lit up the inside of the old mill. 

Varian set it down beside the supply cache that he and Eugene had raided… had it only been three days? How the  _ hell _ was that possible?

“You think it’s bad as a temporary hideout, try sleeping in here,” he replied dryly, letting his backpack slide off of his shoulders and onto the floor. He lifted the lid of the old chest and peered inside. 

Cassandra’s lip curled as a curtain of loose spiderwebs drifted passed her head in an invisible wind. “I can’t imagine Fitzherbert willingly squatting in this place.”

For a moment, anxiety churned in Varian’s stomach. Was Eugene okay? Had the sedative kept the Stabbingtons out long enough for him to get them behind bars? They had left him alone with them, but what if that had been a mistake?

In the dim light of the lantern, Varian found what he was looking for. He pulled it free of the chest and uncorked it gratefully, unhesitant even when the smell of it hit his nose. It was foul mystery swill, but the burn of it would sear away the queasy worry in his gut.

Thankfully, they didn’t need to eat the hardtack. His father had made sure they had food before they’d left. Varian closed the lid of the chest and sat down on top of it, cradling the bottle between both hands. Cassandra remained standing a few feet away. 

“We just have to wait them out for a bit,” he said quietly. “And hope that we don’t miss Eugene.”

Cassandra didn’t reply. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her scrutinizing gaze taking in the interior of the mill with slow precision. The water wheel creaked audibly as it rocked back and forth, filling the silence.

Maybe she was right about it not being the right time to talk. There was a curse, a looming war, a spy in the castle--surely that was more than enough to occupy them for the time being. But the longer Varian spent in Cassandra’s presence, the more unavoidable one single truth was:

She hadn’t apologized.

He wasn’t a child; he didn’t need to hear her apologize to satisfy some superficial principle. After the battle against Zhan Tiri, Cassandra had wished him well, had said goodbye, had told everyone that she would do better. Her apology was broad, a general sentiment. And so far, since she’d arrived beside Eugene at Trevor’s camp, she still hadn’t acknowledged the tension between her and Varian. And when he’d pushed for it back on the road, she had only given him permission to hate her.

Which was not the same as an apology.

Varian didn’t hate Cassandra. He didn’t resent her or fear her. But he did want to at least hear her acknowledge what had happened between them. 

So it didn’t matter, he realized, how much other bullshit was going on. He kept going back to  _ this thing, _ and until they talked about it, it would keep distracting him.

“I don’t hate you,” he said, his voice surprisingly quiet in the space between them. Cassandra went very still. 

After a moment, she turned to look at him. He gazed back, held her look, made himself wait out her silence. Eventually, she sighed.

“Well,” she said, “however you feel, I understand. You have a right to that.”

She was having a hard time looking at him, even if her body was turned his way. Varian’s expression saddened. “I don’t think this is about me, Cass,” he said quietly. 

“Yes, it is,” Cassandra disagreed, too quickly. “I kidnapped you,  _ twice. _ You got hurt because of me. You  _ should _ hate me.”

“I don’t,” Varian repeated. “I got hurt because of Andrew and Zhan Tiri. All you did that whole time was try to help me.”

“I was going to walk you right back to that-- that  _ demon, _ Varian--”

“You were going to bring me to safety,” he interrupted. He wasn’t raising his voice, but there was a steady authority in his tone that made her stop short anyway. “You can carry all that guilt if you want, Cassie, but you can’t hide it from me. I know what it does to you. Once you take responsibility for hurting someone, you start to split hairs and take ownership of every little perceived wrong, even if it’s all in your head. But you’re not responsible for what Andrew did, or for what Zhan Tiri did.”

“Stop it,” Cassandra said suddenly, her hands dropping into fists at her side, her shoulders rising. “Stop making excuses for me. I fucked up. I nearly destroyed Corona and everyone I loved, I nearly got you  _ killed. _ Don’t write it off.”

“Don’t tell me how I should feel about you,” Varian cut back.

Cassandra stared at him, her expression as complex and unreadable as it had ever been. She shook her head silently for a moment before stepping forward. “You told me to stop,” she said. “You warned me what would happen. You warned me when I kidnapped you to translate that scroll, and you warned me again at the Great Tree, and I ignored you  _ twice. _ And you might not like it, Varian, but I was ready to give you back to Zhan Tiri in order to claim my destiny, even if I didn’t like it. Whatever…  _ hero _ you think I used to be, I’m not. And I don’t deserve your friendship now if I wasn’t willing to protect you then.”

As she spoke, her expression began to crack, little hairline fractures spreading across the face of her composure and revealing the hurt beneath. Varian watched her closely, feeling a swell of empathy rise in his chest.

When he didn’t respond immediately, Cassandra swallowed thickly and turned away to hide her face from him. Her arms crossed back over her chest again, this time looking more like a self-hug than anything else.

“But you’re protecting me now,” he said quietly, carefully, like one might test the temperature of a bath.

Cassandra grew even more stiff. “Well of course I am,” she replied thickly.

“... And you came all the way back to Corona because you heard there was trouble, and you wanted to help.”

She hesitated for a moment, and then muttered “Well yeah, but…”

Varian kept going. “Even though you nearly destroyed it. Even though a lot of people are still angry with you. You came back.”

“I owe Corona that much, don’t I?” she snapped, shooting him a sharp look over her shoulder. In the dim lantern light, Varian could see the glint of tears sitting on her lashes. 

“You came back because you’re a good person, Cassie,” he said. “And you dove blindly into the middle of this bullshit to help me, because you’re a good friend.”

For a moment, she didn’t move. She held herself so still, in fact, that Varian could see her shoulders tremble, even if it was only a slight thing. 

When she turned to look at him fully, her expression was so vulnerable and open that Varian realized with jarring certainty that her usual demeanor was--had always been--a mask. The empathy that had been broiling in his chest finally spilled over, and Varian felt a well of tears rise up. 

Somehow, it was the confirmation Cassandra was looking for. She took a shaky, deep breath and closed the distance between them, taking a knee so that she was eye level with him. Her hands found his in the dark.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Instead, she looked down at the floor for a minute, gripping his hands tightly, like she were afraid he might slip away. He held back with the same strength. 

“I can’t… I can’t ever take back the things I’ve done,” she said, her voice awkward and thick. She forced herself to look back up at him. “I really wish I could. But I’m…”

For a moment, he had the overwhelming urge to tell her he understood. Somehow, though, he knew she had to finish what she’d started. 

“Fuck, Varian,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Varian exhaled so suddenly that it startled him. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding it, hadn’t realized how much emotion would be released along with it. His face pulled into a watery smile. 

“It’s okay, Cassie,” he answered. “I forgive you.”

Her arms folded around him before he realized she’d leaned forward for a hug. He hugged her back, his cheek resting on her shoulder. For a moment, they both knelt there, awash in the unbelievable relief that had overcome them both. 

“I’m sorry too, you know,” he said quietly. “I never got to apologize to you about the automaton thing.”

Cassandra gave him an extra squeeze before sitting back on her ankles, breaking the hug. She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Believe me, I get it, now. I forgave you a long time ago.”

“It gets easier, you know?” Varian reached up and picked at the bandages on his left arm, but he watched her closely. “With time.”

She was quiet for a beat before she returned his tired, sad smile. With a sigh, Cassandra picked herself up off the dusty floor and sat down beside him on top of the supply chest. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

And just like that, for the first time in… damn, Varian didn’t know how long. But it hardly mattered; finally, suddenly, there was a kind of peace between them. The absence of discomfort was as noticeable as it was immediate, and despite the emotional upheaval of the last ten minutes--nevermind the last few days--Varian couldn’t help but smile.

They sat revelling in their shared relief for a long while, listening to the sounds of the old mill. Varian wasn’t certain how long it was, just that at some point, he realized that those three guards were long gone. It was time to start moving again.

He held the bottle of old mystery swill out to Cassandra. “Don’t suppose you want a swig of this poison before we get back to it,” he asked.

She studied the bottle with a raised eyebrow, but to his mild surprise, she took it. She didn’t show any signs of discomfort as she took a sip, either. Varian accepted it back and took a shot of it himself, almost immediately wincing and gagging at the taste and accompanying burn.

“God,” he rasped, “it has not gotten any better over the last few days.”

Cassandra chuckled, patting him on the back to help him through it. “It’s better you don’t get used to it, trust me.”

She took a deep breath, and rose to her feet. “Alright, then,” she said. “Shall we?”

Still clearing his throat, Varian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set the bottle down. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Back to business.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=-fH8pzrVSEeISdoLhffwvw
> 
> 1) "Art School" - Cass reflects, regrets  
> 2) "The Giant Fish" - Varian and Cass run from the red-eyed guards  
> 3) "The Finale" - The two ex-villains finally have their talk


	17. Backdraft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the capital, things get abruptly worse. From opposite ends of the kingdom, Rapunzel and Eugene rush to stay ahead of disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you need a break from Varian and Cass? No? I didn't either, but this chapter is necessary.
> 
> Oh, quick note: my job gets pretty hectic in the summer, and I'm also gearing up to move, so apologies for longer delays between chapters. I never leave fics incomplete, so this will get finished one way or another. Pinky swear.

Rapuznel had never seen the castle so empty.

Scared of the curse and unable to leave with the castle in lockdown, many of the staff had sequestered themselves in their chambers, huddling together away from common areas where the smoke could get them. One other package had exploded with cursed red smoke after they had sealed off the castle, prompting a kind of ringing terror among the people inside. The sense that nowhere was safe was prevalent and unavoidable. 

But Rapunzel had raised her chin to enemies of all shapes and sizes, and she wasn’t about to back down now. When that first package had erupted with smoke, it had been assumed that an enemy of the state had smuggled it inside. Locking the castle should have solved that, but the second one was detonated the following day. 

Had it been smuggled in with the first, and only went undiscovered for a day? Or had it been made by someone who was already in the castle? 

The question wrang anxiety from her stomach like a wet rag, twisting tight and staying coiled. It raised so many questions, the least of which being  _ will they try again? _ How could she help her friends and family if she couldn’t keep her own castle from collapsing from within?

The corridor she was storming through was empty and dark, braziers left unlit with no one to attend them. Moonlight fell at a sharp angle through the windows, casting shapes of light across the elegant hallway rug. 

Somewhere out there, her friends were on the run. She trusted Eugene with her own life, but that didn’t mean she didn’t long to be with them; Varian had given the kingdom so much, had more than made up for his past wrongs, and yet he was being hunted like game by the very people who were supposed to protect him; and somewhere out there, closer than she’d been in months, was Cassandra. Knowing this brought a confusing swell of thrill and panic that Rapunzel hadn’t had the time to unpack. Her best friend was close, but so was all the baggage between them. 

She could spend all night worrying over what she couldn’t control, but Rapunzel knew better. She had to compartmentalize, had to triage her panic. 

She had to find Xavier.

Of the few people remaining who did not have glowing red eyes, Xavier was the one she trusted the most when it came to investigating the smoke. She needed his insight on the most recent bomb, needed to hear it from him that there may be a traitor in their midst. And while she knew it put undue and unfair burden on him, Rapunzel desperately hoped that he might have a secret solution somewhere in his arsenal.

Distantly, she could hear people shouting at one another. An argument behind closed doors, and not the first she had heard. The red-eyed curse made everyone angry, made them relive past grievances from around the time of the automaton attack. Taken by their unnatural rage, she had seen many of the curse’s victims break into arguments and fights over issues that no longer existed.

She had tried to break up the fights at first, but it was futile. Her own mother had pleaded with her to spend her energy more wisely, and she was right. As much as Rapunzel hated watching her home fracture and divide, there were more urgent matters. With gritted teeth, Rapunzel quickened her pace toward Xavier’s chambers. 

Maybe, by morning, they would have a plan. She had used optimism like a blunt instrument in the past to great effect. She had to do it again now. 

Ahead and to her right, a familiar voice carried through a set of closed doors. It was muffled, but undeniably that of her father.

Rapunzel slowed, confusion overtaking her. Hadn’t her mother been keeping an eye on him and ensuring he stayed in their chambers? So long as he kept rediscovering his wife by his side, Frederick had stayed relatively calm and collected. What was he doing all the way down here?

The princess approached the doors with every intention of throwing them open, but just as she was reaching for the handles, something stopped her. Did she have a better chance of learning what was going on if she listened in for a moment before interrupting?

_ “We have no time to waste,” _ her father declared, his disembodied voice radiating with anger and authority.  _ “Your suggestion to carefully comb the countryside is an insult!” _

The small part of Rapunzel that thought her mother might be in there with him vanished. It didn’t matter how irate he was, her father would never speak to her mother that way. Rapunzel leaned forward, straining to hear the other voice, but whoever it was spoke far too low, far too soft. She only made out the faintest murmur of a reply, which she could glean no information from.

_ “I want that wretched little criminal  _ found! _ I want him dragged before me in chains!” _

Rapunzel winced. A rush of protectiveness surged into her chest, horrified at the idea of Varian being subjected to such treatment after all he had done for her kingdom. Again, the smallest indication of a reply was uttered by the other stranger in the room, still infuriatingly quiet. Who was in there with her father?

_ “Tear the countryside apart,” _ Frederick ordered.  _ “Tear Old Corona down brick by brick if you have to, I want my wife found!” _

The protectiveness turned to anger, self-righteous and overwhelming, and Rapunzel closed her hands around the handles of the doors and turned them. She was going to surge in there and discover exactly who was encouraging this madness, and she was going to give them a piece of her mind--

A scream, sharp and high pitched, startled her badly enough that she let go of the handles and turned to face it. Further down the hallway, a handmaiden appeared around the corner, running at full speed her her dress gathered in her hands. Her eyes were wide with horror, her face pale as a sheet in the moonlight.

She hardly seemed to register Rapunzel’s presence as she ran by, only taking notice of her when they were practically side by side. “Your majesty, run,” the woman cried, her words tight with fear. Rapunzel whipped back around to face the direction she had come.

At first, the hallway was empty and quiet. She couldn't hear the sound of approaching footsteps, didn’t hear any other shouts or screams. The clack of the handmaiden’s heels vanished behind her, and silence fell over the corridor. An eerie stillness took over. Rapunzel scarcely dared to breathe, braced as she was for whatever was coming. The room beside her had fallen quiet.

Then, it appeared. Up near the ceiling, a bank of red smoke slowly spread around the corner, dragging a crimson haze along beneath it. It moved with insidious silence, growing steadily toward her. 

Rapunzel’s mind went momentarily blank. There had been no exploding package, no shouts of surprise.  _ Where had it come from? _

But it hardly mattered. It was spreading quickly, a noiseless doom advancing on her, and she broke out of her stupor with an abrupt shudder. Turning on her heel, Rapunzel took off at a run in the same direction the handmaiden had fled, her heart leaping into her throat as she moved.

The main corridor in the castle was intersected at regular intervals by smaller hallways. The first few flew by in a haze, her mind consumed entirely by thoughts of escape. When the smoke continued its advance uninterrupted, some part of her realized that she couldn’t just outrun it; she had to outsmart it. 

Each hallway she passed was an opportunity to change course, but she could hear more shouts now, more screams of alarm and fear. One hallway she passed was choked with red smoke; another was crowded with people trying to escape into side rooms, some pounding on locked doors and begging for entrance. 

With dawning horror, Rapunzel realized the smoke was everywhere, an inescapable poison. It was filling the castle in a slow crawl, infecting everyone who inhaled it.

On autopilot, she surged forward away from the smoke and rounded into the main foyer. The smoke hadn’t reached here yet, but many of the castle’s inhabitants had, all of them crowded against the main gate. It had been ordered shut, she knew, but even with all those hands working to push it open, it wouldn’t budge. Why wouldn’t it budge?

Rapunzel skidded to a breathless halt and watched wide eyed as people slammed against the doors, shouting and pleading for someone to open them. A disembodied voice called out, insisting they had been barricaded shut. The information didn’t make any sense to Rapunzel, even with all the adrenaline sharpening her focus, but that didn’t change the fact that the door wouldn’t open. There was no escape to be found, not here.

She had to think of something else. She couldn’t succumb to this curse, couldn’t lose sight of reality. Her friends, her lover, her family and kingdom, they needed her help. They needed her to remain level-headed. This couldn’t be happening.

She turned, and started moving. The smoke hadn’t reached this quarter of the castle, and there was still a window of opportunity to get away from it. Moving with a speed she never could have accomplished back when she had seventy feet of hair, Rapunzel raced toward the base of her tower.

Varian would laugh at her (yell at her?) for climbing the stairs.  _ Smoke rises, _ he’d say,  _ what are you doing? _ But the smoke hadn’t reached the tower, not yet, and if she could get up the stairs to her room, maybe just maybe, she could--

(Should she have run for the gardens? They were in the direction of the smoke. Had she made a mistake?)

Rapunzel’s lungs burned as she pumped her legs up the stairs, her brows set in determination.  _ Move, _ she demanded of herself, willing herself to move faster. The screams and shouts below were growing more distant, but she could tell by their rise in pitch that the smoke had arrived at the main foyer. All those people, trapped against a door that wouldn’t open.

Rapunzel reached the top landing and burst down the hall, her chamber doors in sight. The smoke would be reaching the tower by now, and the thought of it rising up the length of the stairwell brought a fresh surge of horror into her chest. She had moments to get away--

She threw the doors to her room open and sprinted inside. “Pascal,” she called, her voice high and tight, demanding as fast a response as her small friend could give. She heard a squeak, confused and alarmed, and saw a spot of green at the foot of her bed. Rapunzel surged toward it, grabbing Pascal with non-too-careful hands before running for the window. 

If his confused squeaks grew more panicked, she couldn't focus on it, couldn’t pause to look over her shoulder to see if the smoke was coming in through the door behind her. She grabbed at the handles of the window, grappling with the latch, panic making her fingers clumsy. She was thinking about smashing through the glass, desperate and delirious with fear, when Pascal’s tongue shot out and shoved the latch open before her eyes. 

She didn’t even pause to thank him, only shoved the window panes open with all her strength. She surged through onto the deck of her balcony into the night air, crisp and cold in early spring, and dove up against the banister, as far from the window as she could get. She curled forward, hunkering down to try and stay below the smoke, and--

Pascal chirped in a panic, a string of alarming sounds as he watched through her fingers. Rapunzel chanced a look over her shoulder, back to the window. 

Smoke billowed into her room from the hallway. It filled her chambers from the ceiling down, as silent and menacing as ever. In seconds, it had reached the window, and began to spill out into the night, coming closer and closer, reaching for her--

And then rising. Without a ceiling to contain it, the smoke rose into the heavens, blown thin and dissipating by the wind. Rapunzel huddled against the banister on the balcony, holding Pascal close as a column of red billowed from the window before her, seemingly endless. 

She was just out of range, only a few feet shy of the column. She clamped a hand over her mouth and nose and watched it with wide eyes, her heart hammering in her ears.

She had escaped. But how long the smoke would rise, or what damage she would find within the castle after it cleared, she had no idea.

With nowhere else for her terror to go, Rapunzel huddled in the cold, and wept.

-

“I’m tellin’ ya, Fidella, I put countless hours into perfecting the law and order of this kingdom, and all it takes is a few bad apples to unravel all my progress!”

Below Eugene, the horse rolled her eyes. He either didn’t see it or chose to ignore it. 

They were finally riding out of Old Corona, having seen to it that the Stabbingtons and Stubs were personally escorted to the jail cells in town. By the sheerest stroke of luck, Eugene had also managed to find Martin in the woods with the help of a few clear-eyed guards. He had had a pulse when Eugene had left him in the hands of medics, which was as much as he could ask for.

He should be feeling accomplished. In short order, he had secured three wanted criminals, saved a man’s life, and brought what few guards were curse-free up to speed about the trouble over the border wall. It had been a productive stretch of time. But somewhere out there in the dark woods, Varian was walking directly toward the epicenter of this nightmare. Cassandra being with him only provided so much comfort.

So it was with haste had he had tacked up Fidella and headed out. And to keep his anxiety at a manageable level, he let himself talk.

“Back in my day, criminals had the good sense to  _ leave _ once they’d escaped custody,” he carried on, encouraging Fidella to keep up a mid-paced canter. “These hooligans, sticking around and seeking revenge! The nerve!”

They were approaching the same spot that they had fought the Stabbingtons at. It had been explored by several guards to ensure there were no other traps for travellers, and it had been determined that they would come out in the morning to clear the overturned wagon and fallen horse. It was odd to pass it alone, after all that had just happened there. 

Eugene blew a slow breath out through his teeth. He didn’t want to push Fidella too hard, but they had to make up for lost time if they wanted to catch up to Varian and Cassandra before they got to the castle. In that regard, it made sense to make haste.

But his anxiety for Varian was difficult to contend with.

If the last few days had accomplished anything, it was that Eugene’s sense of protectiveness for the kid had skyrocketed. Varian had grown a lot since Cassandra’s tower, since the Saporians had stolen him away to the Great Tree. He was more confident and sure of himself than Eugene had ever seen him.

But he was still Varian, still a walking example of anxiety, still quiet and uncomfortable with being center stage. Would he ever forgive himself for what he had done when he was younger? And if not, would he ever make peace with it?

Eugene could relate to the notion of being at odds with one’s past. 

He had lived enough for twenty men. He had seen and experienced things in his short lifetime that hadn’t been seen in centuries, had had adventures that rivaled and surpassed those of Flynn Rider himself. A great many of them were marked by selfish interest and greed, and it had only been in recent years that he’d started to turn that around. Odd as it was, Eugene saw a lot of himself in Varian: the wit, the cunning, the chip on his shoulder, and if he could ever convince the kid to get a proper haircut, he could see a future heartbreaker in the works.

He was mulling this over as he rode, the site of the overturned wagon falling behind him, when a few figures appeared on the road ahead.

“Move aside,” a voice called, agitated and gruff. Eugene advanced a few paces further before drawing Fidella up short, a frown settling on his face. Three royal guards were running toward him, each in full armor. One of them looked… well, not soaked, but certainly damp. 

All three had red eyes. Eugene felt ice form in his stomach.

“To the side,” the woman repeated in a grunt, not waiting as Fidella shuffled quickly out of their way. 

“Hold up, where are you going,” Eugene demanded, speaking before he could think. One of the guards slowed to scowl at him, but the look was quickly overwhelmed by a flash of teeth and a vicious grin.

“We’ve found the traitor who kidnapped the queen! We’re going to get backup!”

“We’ll rally every guard in Old Corona,” the first woman commanded, still moving away from him toward the village. “On the double!”

“Wait,” Eugene pleaded, panic ratcheting up his voice. “Where is he?”

The guard that had lingered by him dropped the smile. “The little prick escaped,” he scowled. “But he can’t get far! We’ll comb the whole forest for him!”

Eugene felt a sense of numb panic overtake him. His ears were starting to ring. “Stand down,” he ordered, speaking loudly enough to be heard by the two guards that had kept at a jog toward the village.

The man beside Fidella only looked at him like he had said something funny. “Who do you think you are, the Captain?”

And then he took off after his companions.

Eugene stared after them, breathing hard. He’d forgotten that the cursed guards didn’t see him as anything more than an ex-criminal, had forgotten that they were trapped in the past in more ways than one. 

Did he go back and try to stop them? If they spread the word that they’d seen Varian, all the red eyed guards would come flooding toward the capital. They’d be flanked on both sides, with no chance of escape if the castle became surrounded.

But was Varian hurt? Had he and Cass managed to escape unscathed? The image of Varian’s bruised face flashed across his mind, and Eugene steeled himself.

The best thing he could do would be to catch up and keep Varian safe. It was too late to stop those three guards, and he wasn’t even sure how he’d do it if he tried. 

“Come on,” Eugene said in a low, urgent voice. “We have to move.”

There was no turning back now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=ORpEKGi8Sx-P4uduAw-TaA
> 
> 1) "Reveries" - Rapunzel searches for Xavier, and overhears a secret meeting.  
> 2) "The Door" - Rapunzel runs from the smoke.  
> 3) "Wild Horses" - Eugene crosses paths with three red-eyed guards, and realizes they're running out of time.


	18. Then Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally back in the capital, Varian and Cassandra come up with a horrifying theory. On the verge of their final push, the trio reunites.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is fairly quiet, but it was a really fun opportunity to explore some of Varian's old anxieties, and get us on track for the action that's right around the corner. 
> 
> We'll be arriving at the (multi-chapter) climax shortly--please make sure that your seat backs are in the upright position and all tray tables are stowed. It's gunna be a bumpy landing.

The sun rose on the capital of Corona that morning to a climate of anxiety and uncertainty. The whole city seemed to be holding its breath, in anticipation for… Varian wasn’t sure. He didn’t know how far the curse had spread, or how many people knew about it. Had word arrived about the soldiers across the border, or the Saporians angling for war? Or was it simply intuition, that the people of Corona could tell things were amiss, even if they didn’t know what?

Varian hadn’t considered how being in the capital would feel. Over the last few days, he had weathered his share of anxiety and dread, but walking through the empty cobblestone streets of Corona was in a league of its own. Even for the early hour, it was uncharacteristically empty. 

That wasn’t to say that they didn’t pass anyone. A young woman was out sweeping her stoop, and barely regarded them with a tired nod as they passed. Her eyes were clear, a sign that Varian took to be overwhelmingly good news. How bad could things be, if someone could still be doing a mundane task like sweeping their front steps?

Still, the air held a tension that Varian hadn’t felt in the capital since…

Since Cassandra.

Trying to be subtle, he glanced over to his companion. It occurred to him abruptly that she had not been back in the capital in a year, and had only left shortly after the defeat of Zhan Tiri. Her face was complicated and unreadable, an uneasy stiffness in her jaw. 

For so much of their relationship, Varian had struggled to understand what motivated Cassandra. Even when he could recognize some of her behaviors in himself, even when he identified with them, there was always a nuance he missed, a disconnect. In many ways, Varian could relate more closely to Cassandra than anyone else, but he had never felt like they were truly on the same page.

Now, he knew exactly what she was feeling. He had walked the streets of Corona once before, shortly after he helped the Saporians break out of the dungeons. He had carried an invisible mantle on his shoulders, one that branded him a traitor, a criminal, a villain. He had felt the scowls and stares of citizens as he’d followed Andrew through the streets. He had felt like an invader in his own home. 

Cassandra looked the same way he had felt back then, the way he felt  _ now _ with the threat of redeyes finding them. 

They rounded a corner onto a main thoroughfare, and the blacksmithery came into view. Some small amount of relief welled up in Varian’s chest, distracting him. 

“Come on,” he urged quietly, finding Cassandra’s wrist without looking and tugging her gently toward their destination. He wanted to get off of the streets and out of view as soon as possible, and he was sure Cassandra wanted to hide too, for her own reasons. She followed without protest, only mildly surprised.

The inside of the blacksmithery was dark and quiet, same as it had been when he’d come to return Xavier’s clock a few days prior. Varian hadn’t expected to find the old man here, not with everything going on, but he was still a little crestfallen when Xavier didn’t appear from the shadows to welcome them.

On the mantle over the secret fireplace passageway, Xavier’s family clock ticked softly in the dark. Varian paused before it and took a deep breath. Last week, he had been bent over his work bench with a magnifying glass, carefully reassembling the gears and cogs inside. How he wished his biggest problem was still clearing out old grease from inaccessible nooks and crannies.

“It’s nice to see some things are still the same,” Cassandra murmured, looking around at the darkened forges. “Xavier hasn’t changed this place up in decades.”

“I don’t think Xavier’s changed in decades,” Varian replied with a small smile. 

“He won’t mind that we’re going down here without asking,” Cassandra mused, raising an eyebrow as Varian pulled the hidden lever beside the fireplace and began to slide the heavy stone out of the way. It didn’t matter how greased he kept the hidden mechanisms or how often he adjusted the wheels, the damn thing was still a struggle to move.

“Oh, I come down here all the time,” Varian answered, a bit strained as he pushed on the stone. “He lets me use the smaller forges and kilns in exchange for the odd favor.”

Cassandra regarded him with a small amused grin. “You two have really bonded, huh?”

Satisfied that it was open wide enough of them to get through, Varian stepped back and brushed his palms across his pant legs to clean them off. “Well,” he said uncertainly, shrugging at her, “there aren’t a whole lot of people that actually trust the things I build, so… it’s nice that he does.”

“Rapunzel mentioned in a letter that you brought hot running water to the whole castle?” Cassandra prompted, raising an eyebrow at his statement. He reached up to rub the back of his neck as he stepped inside the passageway.

“Yeah, well, selective memories, I guess. Plumbing doesn’t trump giant evil robots.”

Cassandra said nothing as she followed him in, pulling the fireplace closed behind them with far less effort than Varian used to open it. As she did so, Varian pulled out a small vial from his pocket and gave it a shake, filling the stairwell with a familiar pink glow. This time, the glint of weapons below didn’t surprise him.

“Eugene should be here soon,” Varian offered, unsubtly changing the subject. “The access into the tunnels is over there by all the, uh… maces.”

He glanced at his companion to gauge her response to all the weapons. As they arrived at the bottom of the stairs, Cassandra was looking around with something between awe and confusion. 

“Wait,” she said, gesturing for him to slow down even though he had stopped walking. “Did they know about Equis before you two went over the wall?”

He offered her a shrug. “I only found out about all this the day the curse started. Xavier said it was ‘anticipatory’,” Varian explained, flexing his fingers in air quotes around the word. “He said the king ordered it all, and wanted it kept a secret.”

“That’s… odd. Even for Frederic,” Cassandra muttered, frowning at a rack of halberds. Varian stepped up to the table in the center of the room and fiddled around with the lantern for a moment. Once lit, the immediate area brightened and revealed more of the weapons cache. 

“Is it, though?” Varian turned and hopped backwards onto the table, perching on the edge of it and letting his backpack slide off of his shoulders. Below him, the schematic for the Saporian trebuchet crinkled noisily. “I’ve never known him to be forthcoming about anything.”

The bitterness in his tone, regardless of how mild it was, surprised him. 

Varian tried not to have an opinion about King Frederick. He spent more time trying to perfect neutrality than he cared to admit, after everything he’d done to the royal family. Perhaps he thought that if he was totally unopinionated, then there was no chance of old resentments or new annoyances influencing his decisions. If he couldn’t be a fan of the king, then he could be respectfully distant and quiet. And for all accounts, Frederic had regarded him with the same sort of fabricated indifference. Right up until his eyes had turned red and he’d attacked Varian with his sword, the two of them had been operating on mutual grounds. 

But perhaps it was all only a facade. Varian still felt anger toward the man for his handling of the black rock disaster, and even if he was respectful and polite in person, the old resentment was still there. It certainly didn’t help that Frederic held unmatched power over the state of Varian’s freedom and safety, regardless of Rapunzel’s influence.

If Cassandra had heard the tone, she didn’t respond to it. She was pacing around, slowly examining the armaments. “He plays his hand close to his chest, but if he were really gearing up for war, wouldn’t farming communities know? He’s not the kind of king to let his people starve because of a siege on the border or embargoed trade routes from the sea. He’d stockpile food, too.”

Varian blinked. So set in his opinion of the king’s character as he was, he hadn’t considered the practical side of war. Even if Equis couldn't stop every trade ship from getting in, Trevor might stop most of them, and supplies would have to come from within Corona. The farmland, specifically. And stocks would already have to be built up by now for it to work. It couldn’t just be weapons.

Frowning, Varian began to pick at the now-fraying edges of the bandages on his arms. “Well why else would he order all these weapons and not tell anyone?”

Cassandra was examining a sword closely, running her finger along the edge. It was dull enough to not break skin, an unfortunate byproduct of mass production. After a pause, she looked toward Varian with a dawning realization on her face. 

“What if it wasn’t the king who ordered them?”

Varian’s frown deepened. “... But Xavier said Frederic ordered them directly. Why would he lie?”

An uncomfortable pause unfolded between them. Varian shook his head. “No,” he insisted, “Xavier wouldn’t-”

“I’m not saying it’s Xavier,” Cassandra corrected quickly. “But Varian, there  _ is _ a spy somewhere inside. Someone working with Equis and the Saporians to overthrow the crown. Why would Trevor come to the border with so few supplies?”

He didn’t like where this was going, but the sinking feeling in his stomach didn’t mean Cassandra wasn’t on to something. “He wouldn’t need to,” Varian answered quietly. “If there were supplies waiting for him here.”

The silence came back, loud and ringing. They stared at one another for a beat, both of them breathing through the realization, before Varian lifted his hands to derail the idea. 

“Frederic wasn’t cursed when these were made,” he argued. “And Trevor is an idiot. His entire plan revolved around building giant Saporian weapons on site and getting me to build him automatons. Do you honestly think he’s smart enough to have that kind of foresight? To have a secret cache of weapons made  _ within _ Corona for some future attack?”

“No,” Cassandra admitted, “but Andrew might be.”

Varian opened his mouth to argue and stopped himself. Certainly Andrew was a more worthy adversary than Trevor in terms of scheming, but was he clever enough to plan out the logistics of such a move? 

“He would need someone on the inside to forge a request from the king,” Cassandra continued. “A royal scribe, or a council member. Someone who knows the signatures needed, the language to use. We already know he has a contact who was willing to bring that curse right to the royal family, right?”

She was growing excited, feeling closer to cracking the code than before. Varian remained skeptical.

“I don’t know of any scribes or council members that I’ve pissed off,” he argued. “Remember, whoever the spy is, they’re the one holding the foci for the curse. It’s their anger that’s making all the redeyes want to beat me into paste.”

Cassandra set the sword back down and stepped toward him, gesturing as she spoke.  _ “Think _ , Varian. Someone inside the castle, who is close to the king, who could reasonably pass an order for all these weapons. Someone who could either fake the king’s hand, or who Xavier wouldn’t question. Who might have a grudge against you.”

Ice coated the inside of his stomach in a sweep of panic. There was one person he could immediately think of who fit that description, but the thought of it was… horrifying.

Because the first person to come to mind was the Queen.

“I…” he started, his thoughts bottlenecking in his throat. Did he dare say it out loud? Did it make sense that Queen Arianna could resent him for so long without letting on? He had abducted her, held her hostage, had put her very direct danger, and threatened her with death, and when he escaped prison with the Saporians, he had provided a means to wipe her memory. He’d given Andrew the formula needed to turn her into a doll. Nevermind the threat he’d posed to Rapunzel, a daughter who Arianna had only recently been reunited with.

There were a thousand questions in his mind. Why would she help Trevor, or Andrew?  _ Would _ she? Was she unaware of their ulterior motives? In her eyes, was she only stamping out the threat that had plagued her family by getting rid of Varian? Wouldn’t she, more than anyone else, have reason to hate him for what he did?

Cassandra must have seen the dawning horror on his face, must have heard the way his breaths began to shorten, because she raised her hands again, shaking her head. “Look, I’m not saying we’re going to figure out who it is here and now. But wouldn’t you rather go in with an idea of who it could be than go in blind?”

She was right, of course. Varian bit his lip and picked at the loosening bandages around his forearm, feeling his heart drill against his ribs. 

It raised more questions than it answered, but he was fixated on the possibility, suddenly. If Queen Arianna was the spy, then even if they freed everyone from the curse, there would be no peace for Varian at the end of all this.

Before he could examine this realization further, the sound of grinding stone from above startled them out of their conversation. Varian was off the table and on his feet in an instant, Cassandra appearing between him and the stairs in one fluid motion, sword drawn. They both fell very still, eyes turned upward, breaths held. 

Early morning light spilled down from above as the fireplace slid to the side. A figure stood silhouetted in the middle of the opening, quick to slide inside, quicker still to pull the fireplace shut. They couldn't see who it was from so far out of the lantern’s light, but as the stranger’s eyes adjusted, he could see them.

“Oh, thank  _ god,” _ Eugene heaved. “I was so worried you wouldn’t be here.”

Relief flooded Varian’s stomach faster than he’d ever felt it before. “Eugene,” he said, his voice tight with anxiety even as his shoulders dropped. Cassandra lowered her weapon as the captain of the guard descended the steps into the lantern light. 

Eugene wasted no time in crossing the room and planting his hands on Varian’s shoulders, holding him at arm’s length to examine him. “You alright, kid?”

It was too dark in the lantern light for him to really see how pale Varian had become, but he was more in tune with the alchemist than he let on, because he still took a deep breath and pulled him into a quick hug. Varian, desperate for the contact after the realization he’d just had, hugged back without a second of hesitation. 

When they parted, Eugene looked between him and Cassandra with a concerned frown. “You guys had a run in with some cursed guards?” he asked, his eyebrows raised more in concern than in humor.

Cassandra frowned. “How did you know?”

“I passed three of them on my way here. They’re gathering every redeye from Old Corona and heading this way. We can’t go back now.”

This was not wholly surprising, but having Eugene announce it as fact still sunk the mood in the room considerably. Varian flexed his hands carefully and reached to pick at the bandages on his arm again, stopping himself only a centimeter from the fabric. 

While his announcement settled in, Eugene began to look around, finally taking in the room now that he had confirmed Varian was okay. He blinked, doing a double take at some of the racks of weapons. With a low whistle, he turned in a full circle and then reached up to smooth his hair back, trying to stay calm. 

“Things are, uh. Getting kinda serious, no?” he mused, grinning awkwardly at his companions. 

“We’re wondering if the spy ordered these weapons on behalf of the king, for the enemy,” Cassandra summarized, bringing Eugene up to speed with great economy. He blinked, processing the concept, but before he could chime in, Varian took a deep breath. 

“If that’s true,” Varian stated, shuddering lightly and refusing to acknowledge his guess as to who the spy was, “and Equis and the Saporians are on their way, and so are the redeyes from Old Corona, then we don’t have time to stand around. We need to get to the boilers and get the sedative dispensed throughout the castle.”

Eugene’s expression was complicated, gears turning behind his eyes as he started to assemble the puzzle for himself. “Did either of you see any redeyes on your way here?”

“No,” Cassandra admitted. “But our concern is the castle. It doesn’t matter if there are redeyes from here to the horizon if we can get that foci and destroy it.”

Eugene nodded, resolute. He looked to Varian, who looked back at him with eyes that were a bit too large, a bit too pleading. 

He had hoped that fear would be a threshold he could surpass at the beginning and stay ahead of. That it would be a one-time thing to overcome when they set out from Old Corona. He was beginning to realize that fear was going to be with him every step of the way, escalating until they either succeeded or failed.

He took a deep, slow breath, ignoring the ache of his ribs. If that was to be the case, than the best thing he could do was to keep moving.

“Let’s go save Corona,” he said, not sounding as confident as he wished he did. 

“Again,” Eugene tacked on, trying on a smile.

“If that’s a dig at me, say it to my face,” Cassandra deadpanned, offering Eugene a look of warning and a smile at the same time.

“Hey,” Eugene shrugged, holding his hands up, “we’ve all taken a run at the Establishment, let’s not make it a competition.”

“If it was, I think I’d win, after all this,” Varian muttered.

Bizarrely, Cassandra laughed. “Don’t get a big head, kid,” she warned. “Just because people remember you as a bad guy right now doesn’t mean you are. You can’t take the credit here.”

Strange as it was, the banter was cracking the tension. Varian picked up his backpack and slid it back onto his shoulders, gripping the straps carefully so as not to strain his injured arms. The last time he had been in the castle, he’d been running for his life with blood dripping off of his hands. 

At least this time, he’d have company. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=gx5w51_JR7quq1HSaajkWg
> 
> 1) "It's Starting to Snow" - Cassandra and Varian arrive in the city, and head for the blacksmithery  
> 2) "Bonnie and Clyde" - Cassandra and Varian come up with an unsettling theory; the trio reunites


	19. Agency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boilers are rigged, and the plan sets into motion. At the doorstep of their final confrontation, Varian does some growing up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have some comments about this chapter, rather than just a sassy one-liner? Hm.
> 
> In a way, this is the emotional climax of the story for Varian, so it took a few passes to get this chapter to look the way I wanted it to. Ya boy has arrived at the end of his character growth arc for this series--but will it be enough to help him survive? Idk, man. We're gunna find out together.
> 
> Also: we see the spy for the first time..... even if they're still anonymous. Next stop: Action Town.

The last time Eugene had gotten an up-close look at Varian’s boiler machines, they had nearly destroyed Old Corona. 

This wasn’t to say that Eugene never came down into the cellars below the castle to visit Varian while he installed the new ones, but he hadn’t bothered to take a close look at them at the time. In fact, his purpose in visiting had usually been to distract Varian after long obsessive hours of working, which involved steering focus  _ away _ from the boilers.

Now, given how their whole plan hinged upon the boilers working--and breaking--appropriately, Eugene found himself fixated on the gears and dials and pressure gauges. The interface was organized, purposefully laid out based on the logical use of each knob and lever. The boilers that had once erupted beneath Old Corona were now perfected, an efficient and stunning nod to how much Varian had grown in the last few years. 

The alchemist didn’t seem particularly interested in his own handiwork. They had made quick time navigating the subterranean tunnels to the boiler room beneath the castle, only setting off one trap when Ruddigar had gotten distracted by a particularly large centipede. The trap had thankfully been too rusted out to deploy properly, and Eugene had decided that it was a good omen for what was to come.

Because they really,  _ really _ needed a good omen.

“Do you have enough sedative, after we used some on the Stabbingtons,” Cassandra asked, pointing at the first bottle of clear liquid that Varian fished out of his bag. He was setting them all beside a small access hatch, his expression about as anxious as it was determined.

“Hard to say,” Varian answered honestly. “But even if we don’t have enough to knock everyone out, we can still turn them into… well, basically zombies. Temporarily,” he added, glancing nervously up at his two older companions.

“Anything’s better than nothing, I suppose,” Cassandra sighed, looking up at the complicated tree of pipes above. Each branch vanished into the stone ceiling, through holes that had been created by the black rocks during Cassandra’s attack on the castle. If she realized this, Eugene saw no sign of it on her face.

“Listen, Goggles,” Eugene began, “about this plan. Are we going to get the  _ whole _ castle with this? Or will the pipes just split in a few places and the rest of the castle will be unaffected?”

The question had been weighing on Eugene’s mind for a while, but Varian almost seemed to perk up. “Actually,” he said in his Alchemy Explanation Voice, “after the earlier iterations of this design proved, ah,  _ ineffective, _ I redesigned it to prevent catastrophic failures. The joints where all the pipes are connected are designed to rupture under certain levels of pressure, so that build-up can be released evenly, rather than all in one spot. Which…” Varian reached up to rub the back of his head. “I’m realizing just now is a liability if someone were to, you know…  _ poison _ the water supply down here, and do exactly what we’re doing. But… after this, I’ll have to fix it all anyway, so I can think of something else. Maybe an underground redundancy...”

Despite himself, Eugene smiled. Varian’s enthusiasm for his inventions was refreshing after the anxiety he’d been radiating over the last few days.

As he watched, Varian lowered his goggles onto his face and pried open the hatch on the side of the machine. It was only about a foot across, a small opening to test water quality and temperature directly. As the hatch opened, steam immediately billowed out, an unceasing torrent of heat that would have ruined Eugene’s hair if he’d been standing any closer. Unbothered, Varian uncorked the first bottle and began to siphon it’s contents into the supply.

“A word, Fitzherbert,” Cassandra said in a low voice, so close to Eugene’s ear that he jolted. She gestured away from Varian and stepped a few feet back. With only a brief glance toward the busy alchemist, Eugene followed.

“Listen,” the warrior began, cutting a sideways look at Varian to ensure they were out of earshot, “I know what you’re going to say, but I think we need to split up.”

Eugene blinked and looked at her like she’d just grown a second head. “Excusez-moi?”

Cassandra held her hands up as if she were trying to sooth a spooked horse. “Look,” she sighed, “I know you two are close, and I know you want to keep him safe. But what if one of us gets cursed?”

Eugene stared at her. For a moment, he was unsure how to respond. She was right, after all. He hadn’t wanted to think about it, but if he inhaled any of that red smoke, wouldn’t he be just as likely to hurt Varian as anyone else?

“I’m not happy about it either,” Cassandra admitted, her voice halved. “But Varian has shown that he can take care of himself. And personally? I’ve…”

She stalled, looking for a moment like a frog had crawled up her throat. She quickly averted her gaze, the muscles in her jaw flexing as she clenched her teeth. Eugene waited for her to work through the moment, listening over the hum of the boilers as she drew a deep breath in through her nose.

“I’ve done enough to hurt him,” she said, forcing the words out like they were painful. “I can’t do it again.”

Eugene set his jaw and took a deep breath of his own. Cassandra had never been--likely still wasn’t--vulnerable or open with her emotions. But the guilt on her face was so complicated, so momentarily raw, that he almost agreed to split up before he could think about it.

Because he didn’t want to hurt the kid, either. Even when Varian was at his most dangerous with the automatons, or his most irritating when they’d first met, Eugene had never wanted to see the kid hurt. When he looked at Varian back then, he only saw someone who was as alone and misunderstood as he had felt when he was a kid. 

Eugene glanced toward Varian. His back was still turned to the both of them, but the small steaming hatch had been closed. The alchemist was busy slowly turning knobs to drive the pressure up. 

“I understand what you’re saying,” Eugene said slowly, not looking away from the kid as he formed his words. “Really, I do. But I can’t leave him now.”

Cassandra sighed, earning back his attention. “I know, but Rapunzel would understand if you--”

“It’s not about Rapunzel,” Eugene interrupted, so suddenly that he surprised even himself. Cassandra blinked. “It’s not about me, either. It’s…”

Eugene held his breath, stalled for a moment on how to respond. Instinct and logic were competing on the tip of his tongue, one pushing to stay and protect Varian, the other agreeing with Cassandra’s concerns. 

Neither seemed to be winning, and so for a moment--and that’s all it was, a couple of quiet seconds--Eugene simply stood there, staring at her while he tried to sort out how he felt. Cassandra stood before him, avoiding eye contact as guilt weighed her gaze to the floor and hiked her shoulders up to her ears.

Before either of them could shake it off, it was Varian who spoke.

“Cassandra’s right,” the alchemist said, not looking away from the pressure gauge as he slowly upped the strain on the machines. “About a lot of things, probably, but one thing in particular.”

Both of them looked toward Varian with wide eyes, immediately embarrassed to discover that he had heard their entire conversation. Varian turned to meet them, but it wasn’t irritation or offense that they saw on his face. His expression was calm, and above all, certain.

“If this whole disaster has proven anything to me, it’s that I can take care of myself,” Varian said, looking back to the dials for a moment before deciding he was satisfied with their progress and could look away. He turned toward them with that somber expression, and for the first time, Eugene was surprised to notice that Varian looked like an adult. 

“I know you both care,” he said. “Both of you know what it’s like to have to grow up really young, and maybe… maybe that’s why I’ve always looked up to you. Being alone is  _ really _ exhausting, and over the last few years, I’ve felt like I didn’t have to make every decision or solve every problem, because I’ve had older friends looking out for me. But just because it’s easier to hide behind you doesn’t mean I can’t solve problems on my own.”

“Varian,” Eugene said quietly, almost under his breath. It slipped out before he really knew what he wanted to say, but something twisted in his chest at the young man’s words, something that hit entirely too close to home. Cassandra was struggling to meet Varian’s eye; she remained silent and still beside Eugene.

Varian took a deep breath. “Listen… What I’m saying is… I don’t think any one person should have to make decisions for anyone else. So let’s all just make the choice for ourselves, okay? I can take care of myself. If you wanna stay with me, then I’m happy for the company, I’m not going to lie about that,” he laughed uneasily. “But if you want to split up? Do it because that’s what  _ you _ want, not because you think it’s what I need. Don’t make that decision for me.”

Cassandra lifted her gaze as he spoke, and after a moment, a fond smile curled the corner of her mouth. “Damn, kid. You really  _ have _ grown up, huh?”

Varian looked a little sheepish at the comment, pursing his lips to try and suppress the smile it earned. At his feet, Ruddiger chirped proudly and weaved between Varian’s ankles. 

Eugene watched as though he were miles away, his mind reeling with this new side of Varian. But was it new? Since the moment the curse had erupted from that puzzle box, Eugene had been protecting Varian, doing all he could to shield him from harm. He’d laid awake at night, chasing scarce sleep and worrying about how to keep his young friend safe from all of the threats mounting against them. 

Had it been necessary? Varian had led them to the graveyard where he’d had a secret stash of alchemical weapons. He’d escaped the Stabbingtons on his own, and fended off Eyepatch even while pinned to the ground by the throat. He had escaped Andrew and set Trevor’s entire forwarding camp on fire without any help. He had easily outmaneuvered Stubs in the woods, and had outrun three trained royal guards. 

Varian was small, anxious, and injury prone. And he was also brilliant and fierce and dangerous in his own right. Maybe Eugene hadn’t really been protecting him like he’d thought he’d been. Maybe Eugene had simply been supporting someone who was perfectly capable of protecting himself. 

In an absurd instant, Eugene thought of Rapunzel. Couldn’t the same be said of her? She’d never needed a knight to protect her; she’d only ever needed a friend to support her in her own success. 

Varian was no different.

“You’re right,” Eugene said, the conflict between his instinct and logic suddenly settling to a quiet peace. “I guess it’s hard for me to let go of the whole ‘protective big brother’ thing. How could I forget how terrifying you are to have as an opponent?”

It was said with a grin, and Varian returned it, gratitude clear on his face. Behind them, a sharp whistle from above indicated the beginning of Varian’s controlled destruction of his machines. He turned, making sure that the pressure wasn’t reaching dangerous levels, and then stooped to pick up Ruddiger.

Cassandra took a deep, audible breath. “Well, in the interest of honesty,” she sighed. “I… think I need to part ways with you guys here. I don’t want to risk getting cursed, Varian, not if it means hurting you anymore than I already have. And also…” her expression steeled, seriousness creeping back into the conversation, “I need to go find Rapunzel. I didn’t expect my homecoming to be this dramatic, but… if she’s cursed, she might need me, and if she’s somehow  _ not _ cursed, then she needs all the help she can get.”

Varian nodded, holding Ruddiger in his arms as the raccoon squirmed to keep an nervous eye on the humming boilers. “I understand. If you find her, and she’s not cursed, will you let her know that we’re okay and have a plan?”

“I’ll bring her up to speed on everything,” Cassandra agreed firmly. 

After a pause, both of their eyes gravitated toward Eugene.

That inner conflict was back, although quieter this time. Did he stay, and risk getting cursed, or leave with Cassandra and worry about Varian the entire time?

Eugene set his jaw and did what he’d done since he was little: he left instinct lead. 

“If it’s all the same to you, kiddo, I’m sticking with you. If things get dicey, we can reevaluate later, right?”

The smile that spread across Varian’s face was about as relieved as it was overjoyed. “Yeah. And probably Ruddiger will attack you if you get cursed.”

“That’s… oddly reassuring,” Eugene admitted with a chuckle. 

Behind them, the machines whistled again, and Varian turned to assess the state they were in. As Ruddiger climbed onto his shoulders, Varian made a few final twists to some knobs and tapped the glass face of a pressure gauge. 

“Well,” he said, his voice packed with anticipation, “I think we’re ready. The steam should be flowing into all the main corridors and common areas by now. We just have to give it a few minutes to settle once I lower the pressure back down, otherwise we’ll be zombies too.”

His hands worked the knobs and levers as he spoke, the dials all beginning to lower back to normal thresholds. In quick time, the machines began to quiet back down to the soft humming they’d been producing when they’d arrived in the chamber. 

“So Cassandra will go find Rapunzel, and Varian and I will go find this spy and smash this curse to itty bitty pieces,” Eugene said, laying out the final plan more for his own edification than anything else. “Any idea where to start?”

Varian’s shoulder’s tightened in a flinch, but when the alchemist turned back around, he only offered a shrug. Eugene didn’t miss the fear etched into the corners of Varian’s eyes, but he didn’t comment on it.

“Someone close to the king, who could reasonably pass a huge order of weapons along to Xavier on the king’s behalf,” Cassandra explained. She had said something similar earlier, when they had met back up in the cellar beneath the forge. Varian remained silent, the confidence he’d had only a moment before suddenly fractured. Whatever he suspected--whoever he thought it was--he clearly dreaded it. 

Eugene frowned. Was the culprit obvious to Varian? Should Eugene be seeing it just as clearly? Someone who could order an army’s worth of equipment without raising suspicion… Certainly the royal family could, but that was ridiculous. Neither Rapunzel nor the Queen would compromise their kingdom, especially not to harm a boy they had long ago forgiven. 

That left the members of the counsel, and close aids to the royal family. A picture was beginning to form in Eugene’s mind, far clearer than it had been since they learned about the existence of the spy. Probably, Varian was just anxious about finally confronting the mysterious traitor. Or going into the castle with the curse floating everywhere. Or anything, really. Kid had good reason to be anxious.

“Well, we won’t get anywhere standing around here,” Eugene decided. “I say we get upstairs, part ways, and do some good old fashion surveillance. It’ll be just like scoping out a place before robbing it.”

In a moment of nostalgia, Cassandra rolled her eyes. “You  _ would _ look at it that way.”

“And you’re welcome for it,” Eugene cut back slyly. “My intuitive genius has seen me safely in and out of many dangerous heists. This’ll be a cake walk.”

“Sure,” Varian agreed, shouldering his backpack stiffly and crossing the room to stand before them, Ruddiger’s tail curling around his neck. “Full of shuffling brainwashed zombies and murderous spies. Any tips, Mr Master Thief?”

“Yes. Don’t die.”

“Sage advice,” Cassandra deadpanned. 

Eugene stretched his arms up over his head, groaning dramatically as his joints popped. “Alright then! Let’s get this over with!”

Together, they started toward the stairs.

-

Elsewhere in the castle, the inner mechanisms of an iron lock turned with a  _ clunk, _ and a heavy oak door slowly opened. The braziers from the corridor cast a long rectangle of light across the room, illuminating the edges of shelves stacked high with supplies of all kinds. Parcels and packages, bottles and vials, anything and everything needed to keep a castle operating. A shadow fell across the column of light, the muffled tap of heels against the stone floor echoing in the darkness as a hooded figure entered the space and ventured inside. 

They didn’t bother to close the door behind them. The castle beyond was quiet, her halls abandoned in the wake of the cursed red smoke. The figure moved deeper into the room, weaving between shelves until at last they stopped at an unassuming shelf against the riverstone wall at the back of the room. Nested among paper-wrapped parcels and jars of preserves, a small wooden box sat unassuming with a thin layer of dust on top. Only a few fingerprints showed on its surface, evidence of a recent visit. 

Two gloved hands emerged from the cloak and carefully, quietly opened the box. The hinges creaked softly, revealing an old velvet-lined interior. Resting at the center of the box was a small glass vial with a long neck of braided glass and a heart-shaped base. Stamped into the glass was what appeared at a sunburst, not unlike the crest of Corona.

The vial was empty except for a small dark smudge inside. The hooded figure plucked carefully at the tips of their fingers, inching the glove off of their hand to reveal their bare skin. With deliberate care, they reached into the box and picked up the small vial.

For a moment, they merely turned it in the dim light, illuminating the ruddy brown stain inside. After a pause, however, the stain began to glow a soft red that spread from the substance inside to the glass itself, until the whole vial was glowing.

The hooded figure tightened their grip around the bottle, and closed the box with an audible click. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=tRIBg9uNT_Cp25PNC3GAqQ
> 
> 1) "Safe Harbor" - The boilers are rigged; the trio talks about agency  
> 2) "Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts" - The spy makes an appearance, and the foci is revealed...


	20. No Rest For The Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra finds Rapunzel. Varian and Eugene find trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up youtubers? Back at it again with a new video! Be sure to hit that like and subscri

When they emerged from the tunnels, they were greeted by a servant who was slumped over his mop and bucket, fast asleep. A soft snore rumbled from him, jarringly mundane and innocent considering all that was going on. Behind the man’s closed eyelids, a faint red glow was still visible.

“Huh,” Varian said, staring uneasily down at him while Cassandra and Eugene confirmed that the room was otherwise empty. “Sedative seems to have worked. Really glad to see that.”

Ruddiger chirped in agreement, climbing up the back of Varian’s shirt and assuming his usual spot on the alchemist’s shoulders.

Their access point to the castle was located in a large pantry, airy and bright with morning sun that filtered in through high windows. Jars and pots and bottles lined the rows of shelves, providing them some cover. Aside from the sleeping servant, it felt as though they were insulated from the dangers just beyond the door.

Without wasting time, Cassandra turned and pulled them both into a huddle. She spoke in a low voice, a seriousness settling over her. “Do you two have a plan?”

“Find the spy and destroy the foci,” Eugene intoned confidently.

“No, an  _ actual _ plan,” the warrior groaned, rolling her eyes. “You know, with detailed steps?  _ How _ are you going to find the spy? I might not be going with you but I don’t want you to go in blind, either.”

Eugene looked immediately offended. “You know, we were doing just fine before you joined the team.”

“You were being hunted for sport and Varian was being held prisoner by two of the three villains you’re up against.”

Varian looked back and forth between them, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth despite the severity of their situation.

The captain of the guard lifted a finger, ready to rebuke her, and stopped short. After a second of reassessment, he wisely chose not to argue with her. “We have a pretty good idea of who to look for,” he said defensively. “Anyone who fits our profile and  _ isn’t _ cursed is a suspect, and I have full authority to detain them until we can prove they’re not the spy.”

“I don’t think we have time for an inquisition, Fitzherbert,” Cassandra cut back.

“Oh-ho,” the man laughed joylessly, “we’ll know right away when we’ve found our guy. I’ll make ‘em talk.” He cracked his knuckles for show, his anger just a little bit too genuine to be taken as a joke.

“Cassandra’s right,” Varian interjected. He felt a swell of anxiety in his stomach, queasy and sickening, and he pushed it aside as best as he could. “We need a plan. I think I have an idea of how to find the spy.”

Both of his companions turned to look at him expectantly, which only served to bolster his anxiety. When he didn’t immediately elaborate, Cassandra opened her mouth to prompt him, but was cut off by a loud snort from the sleeping servant.

She turned to look at the red eyed man, remaining still until she was certain he was going to stay asleep. When she turned back to their huddle, she sighed. “Fine. Whatever your plan is, just be careful. This spy means you harm, Varian, and if they’ve stayed a secret this long, they’re good at hiding their intentions. It might not be obvious who it is, even if Sir Punches-a-lot thinks he can weed them out.”

She said this with a dismissive gesture toward Eugene, who looked at her sideways with narrowed eyes. 

Varian sighed. “Believe me, if we had time to lay out a carefully-plotted plan, that’s what I’d be doing. But we’re not getting any closer to finishing this by standing here.”

He was right, of course, and both of his friends knew it. Sensing the end of their conversation, the three of them broke the huddle and moved toward the door to the pantry, first Eugene, then Cassandra, then Varian. They had agreed upon this order in the tunnels, since Eugene was on good terms with the castle both in the present and in the past the red eyes were all stuck in. 

Varian was grateful to be in the back. He didn’t want either of them asking what was on his mind. He hadn’t shared his theory about the Queen--

_ (because if it was true, he was as good as hanged) _

\--because neither of them would accept it, but Varian’s guilt refused to let the idea go--

_ (he’d hurt her the most, hadn’t he? She must hate him, how could she not hate him?) _

\--they would argue that Queen Arianna had always been kind to him, had always been warm and friendly--

_ (all a lie, why would she deem him worthy of another chance after what he’d done--) _

Varian was jolted from his thoughts as soon as he stepped into the hallway, surprised by the lack of fanfare. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Fires everywhere? Cursed chefs running around with meat cleavers? Red eyed guards at every corner, hunting for him still? But the hallway was quiet and empty, the tapestries along the wall muffling any distant sounds that might have otherwise reached them. 

Eugene and Cassandra had also stopped. This was where they’d part, Cassandra going one way to find Rapunzel, and Eugene and Varian heading in the other to find the spy. Varian was at once uncertain what to say; he’d never been in a situation like this before, and a sense of urgency gripped him. Was there something they’d forgotten to discuss? Some crucial detail they had to go over one last time to ensure the best results possible?

But this wasn’t a chemical formula or a machine checklist, and neither Cassandra nor Eugene seemed unsure of how the moment should go. Cassandra simply turned toward Varian and gripped his shoulders for a moment.

“Good luck,” she said quietly, looking at both of them in turn. “Don’t die.”

“You too, Cass,” Eugene replied. “Say hi to my wife for me, yeah?”

Varian looked between them, confused as to where they’d gotten their focus from. Were they both just so used to adventuring that it didn’t bother them? How were they not terrified?

And then Cassandra nodded at them, and turned, and started down the hallway at a jog in the direction of Rapunzel’s tower. After a moment, she vanished around a corner, and was gone.

Varian stared after her, immediately aware of the safety that she had been providing now that she was gone. He glanced up at Eugene, who merely clapped him on the back. 

“Alright, kid, what’s this plan of yours?”

Varian’s stomach sank. He pulled a face, visibly uncomfortable, but at least Cassandra was no longer beside him to immediately shoot the idea down. “It’s, uh. Really stupid and dangerous.”

Eugene made an exaggerated face of surprise.  _ “What? _ That would be an absolute first for us! We’ve never done anything stupid or dangerous before, ever!”

Despite himself--despite everything--Varian laughed. It was breathy and nervous, but genuine all the same. “Well,” he began, looking back down the hallway in the direction they would need to head. He took a deep breath. “I think whoever is doing this, if they’re as close to the king as we think they are... I think they’d be pulling strings. They didn’t cook up this whole scheme only to let Frederic do something unsupervised that could compromise it.”

Eugene raised an eyebrow, looking increasingly wary, as though he were bracing for a jack-in-the-box to spring. “Are you about to suggest what I think you are?”

“I think we need to find Frederic,” Varian confirmed, a wince pulling at his features. “We find the king, we find the spy.”

“Jeez, Goggles, you weren’t kidding.”

“Stupid and dangerous,” Varian repeated. 

Eugene planted one hand on his hip, smoothing his hair back with the other. He turned his gaze down the hallway. “New idea for our team name. Team Stupid and Dangerous.”

“I think we’ve more than earned it,” Varian agreed.

From the direction that Cassandra had left, a voice interrupted. It was a fair distance away, but both of them jumped and turned anyway. Eugene pulled his sword out in the same instant that Varian pulled out an alchemical bomb, Ruddier’s tail poofing out aggressively. Before they could move to action, the newcomer appeared.

It was Pete. He stumbled awkwardly into the middle of the hallway, pigeon-toed and only barely keeping himself up right. “Intruders,” he slurred, missing a step and nearly falling face-first before he caught his own weight. “At the-- in the west-- the west hall,” he managed. 

His eyes were as red as they were drooping. Both Eugene and Varian lowered their weapons as Pete took a few more awkward steps before tripping on the corner of a carpet and fumbling to the floor. “‘Truders,” he muttered into the pile of the rug, one finger pointing to the ceiling in a final attempt at appearing assertive before his arm flopped over, and a soft snore began to emanate from where he lay.

For a moment, Varian and Eugene stared at Pete, and then at each other, and then back at Pete. 

“... Yeah, really glad that sedative idea worked,” Eugene said, standing upright. 

“Yeah,” Varian agreed quietly. Ruddier tilted his head in confusion, one ear flicking curiously.

“But we should probably get moving,” Eugene prompted, looking at Varian like he were seeking confirmation. With effort, Varian pulled his baffled attention away from Pete and nodded. 

“Yeah. Yes. We should. To find the king.”

“And the spy.”

“And not die.”

“Ideally not.”

With that, they turned, and set out.

-

The foyer was the most disturbing scene Cassandra had witnessed in a while.

At a glance, the ornate marble hall looked like the sight of a massacre. Bodies were strewn about, some piled on top of each other. The most were concentrated near the castle doors, barricaded and locked to keep them in, but clawed at in what must have been a desperate attempt at escaping. 

But the bloodless nature of the scene and the soft sounds of snoring confirmed a less horrendous situation: they were all asleep. All of them had a soft red glow emanating from behind their eyelids, but none were on their feet and alert. The closest anyone got to consciousness was a few people here and there who were yawning and rolling around, trying to get more comfortable. Cassandra had not seen the castle since it had been repaired. The foyer--which had been so badly damaged during the battle with Zhan Tiri--had been rebuilt in surprisingly quick time, refreshed with white marble and new tapestries that depicted Rapunzel’s journey to the Dark Kingdom. Cassandra’s betrayal was notably absent, and she wondered for a moment if Rapunzel had insisted it be. 

She couldn’t dwell on it. Couldn’t dwell on her surroundings, and her history within them. An entire life growing up within these walls, poisoned and turned to bitterness by what she had done. But there would be a time to stew in regret, and it wasn’t now. Now, she had to step carefully over sleeping citizens and find Rapunzel.

The climb to the tower wasn’t the only way to get to Rapunzel’s chambers, but it was the most direct from where they had exited the tunnels. As she made her way up, Cassandra tried not to think about the complex emotions vying for her attention. 

Was she ready to see Rapunzel? Was Rapunzel ready to see her?

It hardly mattered now, she knew, with everything going on. In fact, some childish part of Cassandra wanted nothing more than to hug her best friend and seek comfort in her company. 

She pushed up the stairs faster, letting the burning in her legs distract her. She couldn't afford to get caught up in her own head now. 

As she climbed higher up the winding spiral stairs, she began to take note of a dark red smog, high in the rafters above. At first, she thought it was simply a trick of the light, but as she grew closer, it came into sharper focus. Above the windows, unable to be vented from the vaulted ceilings above, a bank of red smoke had settled. It must have been the same smoke that had choked the foyer and cursed all those sleeping people, Cassandra realized with a jolt, and if it got into the tower, and that’s where Rapunzel was--

Her heart leapt into her throat and she pushed her legs harder. If Rapunzel was cursed, that changed everything. She’d have no memory of Zhan Tiri, or Cassandra’s betrayal, or--

_ Focus, _ she cursed as she rounded into the hallway that led to the princess’s chambers. She was running now, a full-on sprint, unsure of what to feel or what to think but knowing above all other truth that she had to find Rapunzel  _ right now-- _

The princess’s room was as huge and colorful as it had once been before the fight against Zhan Tiri. It had been fully restored, a testament to the hard working architects and engineers in Corona. Filled with sunlight, the room appeared at first to be totally untouched, until Cassandra noticed the smoke that was trapped in the high ceilings, just above the tops of the windows. 

The windows, which stood open to the balcony, where the clear open sky would sweep away any escaping smoke. Through them, Cassandra could see a purple shape bent over, back to the railing. 

“Rapunzel,” Cassandra declared, the name of her best friend leaving her mouth before she even thought to say it. She was moving, rushing to the window, praying beyond all hope that her friend would look up at her with--

Perfectly clear eyes. Rapunzel jolted twice, first at the arrival of an unexpected visitor and then again when she realized who that visitor was. She was on her feet in an instant, but stood rooted to the spot. Cassandra vaulted over the window frame and right into Rapunzel’s open arms, the both of them embracing one another with a swift fierceness that Cassandra hadn’t known she’d been starving for until she had it. 

“Cass,” Rapunzel heaved, relief surging in her words. “Oh, thank god!”

“Are you hurt,” Cassandra replied, not breaking the hug until she was certain that Rapunzel was really there. They held each other by the elbows and basked in the dizzying relief and surprise of the other’s company.

“I’m fine, Cass,” Rapunzel laughed, still processing the sudden arrival of her old friend. “Stan said he’d seen you in Old Corona with Eugene, and I’d hoped-- Oh, it’s so good to see you, you have no idea!”

Cassandra laughed breathlessly. “I have some, I think.”

Rapunzel pulled her into another hug, this time briefer but no less fierce. When they parted again, her expression was touched with panic. “Eugene,” Rapunzel asked, ”and Varian?”

“They’re okay,” the warrior confirmed. Suddenly, the urgency of the situation returned to Cassandra’s mind. “Raps, there’s a spy in the castle who has been working with the Saporians and Equis to do all of this. Whoever it is has the source of the curse, and we think they’re close to your father. Someone who could send orders without being questioned. Varian and Eugene went to find them.”

The elated look on Rapunzel’s face vanished, reality crashing back in. Her expression shuttered back to the exhausted, stressed look she’d been wearing just before she’d looked up to see Cassandra. “I was afraid of that,” she admitted, not sounding as surprised as Cassandra had expected she would. “It doesn’t make any sense that the curse would keep getting into the castle after we closed the gates. But what makes you think that this… this  _ spy _ is someone close to my father?”

Cassandra took a deep breath. Every piece of information she had surged to the front of her mouth, the urgent need to share everything momentarily overwhelming her. It was only through practiced discipline that she managed to pick out the important details for the sake of brevity. “Below Xavier’s forge, there’s a massive collection of armaments. According to Varian, the order to make them came from the king.”

Rapunzel blinked, her frown deepening. “Why would my father… Did he know about Equis at our border?”

Unspoken between them was King Frederic’s history of keeping important information to himself. Cassandra could see it in Rapunzel’s eyes, that disbelieving anger that he’d do it again. 

“I don’t think so,” Cassandra said quickly. “If he was preparing for war, there would be huge stores of rations, preparations for a siege. The order was  _ only _ for armaments, and it was kept quiet. I think the spy ordered them, which means they have to be close enough to your father that Xavier wouldn’t question it.”

Rapunzel’s look of anger hardly lessened, but she did take a deep breath as she processed the new information. After a pause, she changed gears.

“Well, whoever the spy is, the foci has to be the first priority,” she said. “I’ve been trying to do all the research I can on my own.”

Rapunzel gestured at their feet, and for the first time, Cassandra looked down and noticed all of the books spread out over the balcony floor. Many were open, pages marked and dog-eared to different chapters and sections detailing magical items. Pascal was sitting on an open page to prevent the wind from turning it, looking up at them with the same tense expression Rapunzel wore. “I think I’m figuring out how the foci was made in the first place,” the princess explained. “I’ve been reading for hours trying to figure out what’s going on.”

Cassandra blinked. “Hours? Raps, how long have you been out here?”

The princess waved a hand loosely, dismissing the concern. “All night. There had been a few small smoke bombs before, but last night a huge wave of it spread through the castle. All those people in the foyer… I couldn’t help them, and... I ran up here to escape the smoke, but I couldn’t…”

She trailed off, one hand reaching up to squeeze her arm in a gesture oddly similar to how Varian constantly picked at his bandages. Her eyes turned down and away, shame and guilt hiking her shoulders up. Cassandra planted her hands on them in an attempt at guiding them back down. 

“It’s not your fault,” she insisted. “You can’t help them if you’re cursed too.”

Rapunzel kept her eyes downcast. Cassandra took a breath, deciding instead to change the subject. “Have you found anything?”

Mercifully, the princess accepted the distraction. “Maybe. Remember that teapot, that turned us both into birds?”

“Ugh,” Cassandra groaned, “how could I forget?”

“When the teapot was smashed, the spell was broken for everyone it had infected,” Rapunzel went on. 

“Break the foci, break the spell,” Cassandra simplified.

Rapunzel knelt among her books and reached for the page that Pascal was holding down. She turned a few pages back over, pointing at the beginning of a chapter. “I’ve been researching magical foci like that, and I found something interesting. In order for the magic to anchor to an object, it needs a bond. A powerful memory, or prolonged emotional significance. For simpler spells, that’s all that’s needed. But for big spells, like this curse? To really make it stick, it requires blood.”

Cassandra wrinkled her nose. “Meaning what? A sacrifice?”

“No,” Rapunzel shook her head. “It literally needs some blood on it in order for the item to become the spellcaster’s foci. Whatever Eugene and Varian are looking for, it’ll have blood smeared on it somewhere.”

Cassandra took a knee and rotated the book around to examine it herself. “Well… that’s nasty, but at least it’ll help us narrow it down. How many people carry bloody objects around with them?”

Pascal croaked and climbed up Rapunzel’s arm to sit on her shoulder. The princess nuzzled his chin with the tip of her index finger and took a deep breath. “Do you know where Eugene and Varian are?”

“Not sure,” Cassandra admitted. “But Varian said he had a plan, and knowing him it’s probably stupid and dangerous.”

Rapunzel grinned fondly, if only a little. “But probably pretty clever.”

“So what’s stupid, dangerous, and clever?”

The two women paused, thinking of where Varian and Eugene could have gone to find the spy. After a moment, they both snapped their attention to one another, expressions paling. 

“The king,” they said in unison, both surging to their feet. 

“That little--” Cassandra started, silently cursing her young friend for taking such a risk. 

“Come on,” Rapunzel urged, grabbing Cassandra’s hand and pulling her around toward her room and the castle beyond, “they need our help.”

-

Like the rest of the castle, the throne room was quiet. Unlike the rest of the castle, it was empty.

While Varian and Eugene had passed many sleeping people on their careful journey to find the king, at times even having to step over people who had fallen asleep in the middle of the hall, the throne room didn’t have a soul in it. Varian wondered if it had been empty when his pipes had started to release sedative into the castle, or if someone had avoided his sleeping agent and had had the bodies removed. 

It was difficult not to feel exposed as they tread carefully into the large room. It felt like a deer leaving the safety of the forest for the necessity of the open field, and Varian hated it. Eugene didn’t seem to be enjoying it either, based on the hike of his shoulders and the hand he had resting on the handle of his sword.

Before either of them could comment on the unoccupied space, a deep and booming voice sounded from an adjoining room near the throne. Both of them froze on the spot, looking toward the large mahogany doors for any sign that they might open.  The voice undoubtedly belonged to Frederic. 

He sounded as enraged as he had been when they’d fled the library, the bass of his voice frightening and commanding in equal measure. Though his words were unclear, muffled as they were through the door, they were promptly followed by a woman’s voice, sounding as though she were arguing with him.

Queen Arianna. Varian went rigid, anxiety erupting back into his stomach like water on a grease fire.  _ Find the king, find the spy. _ For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, dread crushing down on him, flattening the air from his lungs-- 

_ (Oh god, please don’t let it be--) _

And then a third voice, this one speaking far more quietly than the royal couple, barely a low murmur among their elevated voices, and Eugene drew his sword a few inches out of his scabbard. 

“That’s gotta be the guy,” he said in a low, hushed voice. “Right?”

Varian couldn’t move, still frozen with fear. Was it? They had no way of knowing who was and wasn’t cursed, not without opening the doors and seeing for themselves, and what if doing so only proved that the queen was--

_ “Frederic, please listen to reason,” _ Arianna pleaded, her words coming through more clearly as she must have moved toward the door.  _ “I’m fine! I’m right here! I know that you’re angry, that you want action, but I need you to listen to me now!” _

Varian’s ears were ringing. He wanted to turn on his heels and run, vanish into the woods and never come back. Better to leave now than to have his worst fear confirmed, no matter how sincere and worried the queen sounded. 

“We’ve gotta move closer,” Eugene said quietly, his focus entirely on the door. He hadn’t yet seen the pale horror on his friend’s face. “If we can find out who that third voice belongs to, we can get an edge.”

He started moving forward, and Varian stood rooted to the spot, his breathing shallow and quick. Of all the times for a panic attack to catch him off guard--but he couldn’t snap out of it, not if they were about to find out that--

Suddenly, Ruddiger screeched, loud and ringing and clear as a bell beside Varian’s ear. The alchemist jolted, horribly startled from his downward spiral, and so did Eugene, who whirled around just in time to see what the raccoon had noticed. In a fast sweep, he brought his sword up to block a streak of silver before it could bisect him.

The loud crash of metal from the parry hardly registered as Varian stumbled a few steps back, his mind going unhelpful blank with surprise. It took three more strikes and parries, Eugene rapidly losing ground with each swing, for Varian to realize who had just appeared.

Andrew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/album/1Wltickla5u3rLJbNgOXC6?si=t5UzqK8xSWexFTund-j2hw
> 
> 1) "No Rest For The Weary" - The trio emerges from the tunnels, assesses, and splits up  
> 2) "Early Morning Fog" - Raps and Cass reunite  
> 3) "Moral Insanity" - The throne room


	21. Where There Is Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything goes sideways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moved, job got insane, got a kitten, roommate moved in, the entire state caught on fire, toxic smoke and looming evacuation orders...
> 
> I mean, I have a lot of excuses, is what I'm saying. But I finish the things I start, and I started this fic, didn't I?
> 
> Should be more regular updates again after this. If anyone is still reading, thanks for holding on!
> 
> PS i am not editing this goddamn thing, just take it, just have it, i can't keep fretting over it,

_ Two years and a half years earlier. _

The first conversation Varian had ever had with Andrew had been an argument. 

When they’d been introduced as cellmates, Varian had been too angry and bitter to pay the man any mind. Likewise, Andrew had not been interested in befriending someone so much younger than him, and so for six long days, hardly a word was uttered between them. It was only when Varian awoke with a nightmare at the end of that first week that they had any reason to interact.

After a dream filled with screams and black rocks and heavily armed mobs, Varian had hauled himself off of his cot and had forced his attention to alchemical equations. While his residual anxiety from the dream ebbed, he’d taken up a small stone and busied himself by scratching chemical formulas onto the wall wherever he still had room. He had been filling his time in the dungeons with trying to devise a chemical that could melt amber, and the formula had become the only reliable distraction he had from… well, everything.

But the constant scraping of stone against stone wasn’t appreciated by his new roommate.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Andrew had grumbled into his thin pillow, before sitting upright on his cot, his shoulders hiked with anger. “Knock that off.”

A thin, watery stream of moonlight offered the only illumination for Varian to work in. Within the rectangle of light on the wall, he was rubbing the heel of his palm against his most recent mark, trying to erase it. He ignored the man behind him.

In the silence that followed, Varian wondered if perhaps the man had gone back to sleep. The alchemist continued to scrape against the wall, marking down which chemical compounds might work in conjunction with one another. It wasn’t until the man’s cot creaked that Varian realized he’d been watching him work.

Footsteps crossed the small space between them. Varian’s shoulders tensed, hiking up to his ears, but anger flashed within his chest alongside the fear. This had been  _ his _ cell. He’d been here first, alone, for  _ months, _ and just because the Guard had thrown someone in with him didn’t mean he had to change all of his habits.

A large hand grabbed his wrist and wrenched it away from the wall, pulling Varian around and halfway to his feet in one alarmingly strong tug.

“Hey--” Varian snapped, startled and alarmed in equal measure. He came nose-to-nose with the man, who was leveling him with a dangerous glare. 

“If I hear that rock scraping one more time, so help me, I’ll break your hand.”

There was no room in his tone for Varian to misconstrue it as an empty threat. He tried to tug his wrist free, to no avail. It looked thin and delicate in Andrew’s strong grip. “Let go of me,” Varian ground back, that anger surging forward again, nearly overwhelming his fear. 

And Andrew did, unceremoniously opening his hand to release him. He continued to stand in the middle of the cell, his hawk-like stare daring Varian to challenge him. 

If Varian pushed too far and Andrew decided to follow through with his threat, guards would not come. Not at this hour, and not to help him of all people, no matter what Rapunzel might have requested of her father when he’d been arrested.

But if he let Andrew intimidate him, if he showed that he could be pushed around, then it might become a habit. And Varian had learned the hard way that he had no one to look out for him but himself.

“Try anything, and the next meal you have will be your last,” he snarled, his acidic tone unfamiliar to his own ears. Andrew’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh? How do you figure that?” The man’s mouth pulled into a sharp smile, amused that such a threat would be issued forth from such a small source. 

But Varian wasn’t joking. “Do you think it’s hard to find poisons and corrosive chemicals in this place? The water is barely potable  _ without _ me adding anything to it.”

This answer seemed to surprise Andrew, and he didn’t bother hiding it. The threatening glint in his eye suddenly became one of amused curiosity, his gaze flicking from the young alchemist to the scrawling equations and formulas on the wall behind him. Varian realized, suddenly, that he’d just handed Andrew the final piece of the puzzle that the man needed to figure out who--and what--his young cellmate was.

Andrew leaned back, his head tilting just so, his smile smoothing into something handsome and easy. Something placating. His hands slid into his pockets, and just like that, the threatening man in front of Varian became casual, almost friendly. “And how did a kid your age learn so much about poisons, huh?”

Varian’s scowl did not lessen. He wasn’t going to back down now just because Andrew had abruptly changed tactics. “I’m an  _ alchemist,” _ Varian ground out. “Not a  _ kid. _ And believe me, after everything I’ve done, I’m not afraid of some man-bun-wearing douchebag who can’t get his beauty sleep.”

“An alchemist,” Andrew repeated, ignoring the jab. “Well you must be a good one, if you ended up down here.”

This threw Varian off. He blinked, unable to disguise his surprise completely, and stepped back to better glare at the man. Andrew lifted a hands in an ‘I come in peace’ gesture.

“Whatever you did, it must have really proven to them that you’re a threat,” Andrew clarified. “Corona isn’t exactly, ah, shall we say…  _ science _ oriented.” He gestured at the wall behind Varian. “Is all that chicken scratch the reason you’re locked up?”

Images of black rocks and amber and his father frozen in place flashed through Varian’s mind, and his hands curled into fists. “No.”

Andrew only hummed, curious. He clearly wanted to know more, but instead of asking for the details of Varian’s crimes, he just studied the wall as if he were seeing it for the first time. “Then tell me one thing,” he said after a moment of silence. His eyes met Varian’s in the dark. “Did Corona only acknowledge you once you proved that you were dangerous?”

Again, Varian blinked. His anger was ebbing, replaced by surprise as the man before him studied him, those piercing eyes looking right through all of his defenses. Had Andrew been sizing him up this whole time? Even though they’d both made a point of ignoring each other, had this man been trying to figure out why Varian was in the dungeons?

When he didn’t answer, Andrew continued. “Did they value your alchemy before you ended up here? Or did they only start caring once you started to threaten their status quo?”

Varian stared at him, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Andrew didn’t know about what Varian had done, did he? The alchemist had been kept separate from the other prisoners when he’d first been brought here, and the guards were forbidden from spreading gossip and news unless it was approved by the Captain of the Guard. There was no way they’d let news of Varian’s attack circulate down here. 

Still, the man was looking at him with a new quality, as though he understood Varian’s value. As if the threat Varian had just made and the formulas scrawled behind him were all Andrew needed to believe that Varian should be taken seriously.

He wasn’t sure what to feel. People didn’t usually look at him like that. 

And maybe it was for that reason alone that Varian answered the way he did. Because when he thought about it, Andrew was right. With tightening fists, Varian’s expression darkened, his voice low and rough when he spoke.

“The royal family,” he said in a low voice, “only care about themselves.”

And Andrew had smiled.

-

_ Present. _

Eugene was rapidly losing ground as Andrew advanced. Their swords clashed loudly in the echoing throne room, and in the silence of the castle, it was nearly deafening.

Varian had reached into his backpack and pulled out a smoke bomb with every intention of creating a window for Eugene to buy himself some space. He had backed away to get out of range of either sword, and was pulling back to throw the small grenade when a large calloused hand grabbed him around the forearm.

The pressure on his injury caused him to yelp in pain, his focus ripping toward the newcomer. With wide eyes, Varian turned to find a large man in full Coronan guard uniform, glowering down at him over a large, crooked nose. His eyes were perfectly clear.

Before Varian could process this, Ruddiger lunged at the soldier, his small sharp teeth popping into the side of his neck. The man shouted and released him, grabbing at Ruddiger to try and dislodge him. Varian stumbled back, pivoting to face the soldier, his back turning to where Andrew and Eugene were fighting.

There were two other guards, both in full golden armor, both with clear eyes. One of them advanced immediately, quick to grab at Varian while his comrade was still struggling with Ruddiger. 

“Wait, what are you doing,” Varian demanded, trying to side-step away from the advancing guard. His voice was high with panic and confusion. Their eyes were clear--they weren’t cursed. Why were they--

The man grabbed him, holding him firmly by his upper arms despite his struggling. Varian twisted desperately, his heart in his throat. “Let me go,” he cried, more of a plea than a demand as confusion sang in his ears. “What are you--”

His eyes shot toward Ruddiger, who had leapt to the ground and was hissing loudly, his hackles fully raised. It was then that he noticed the halberds all the guards were carrying.

They were an Equisian design.

It clicked immediately. They had followed Andrew into the capital, and had stolen armor from the Guard. They weren’t cursed because they didn’t have to be.

Varian snapped into focus between one instant and the next. Still clutched in his hand was the smoke grenade he’d meant to aid Eugene with. Twisting suddenly, he brought his hand up between him and the guard. Rather than break out of the man’s hold, Varian leaned in, shoving the grenade into the man’s armor at the neck. He pulled the pin, and pulled away from the man, hard.

It only took a second for the man to realize what had happened and release him. Blue smoke spilled out from his armor, blooming around him in a sulfurous stink that sent him scrambling away to get it out of his chestplate. 

Varian wasted no time. From his back pocket, he withdrew a small vial full of green powder, which he uncorked while the blue smoke bought him some cover. He ducked low, trying to stay hidden in the fog as long as he could. The instant the next soldier came into view, Varian swept his arm wide, sending the green powder spilling out of the vile in an arc through the air. 

It coated the man in front of him, the third guard who had not yet made his move. After having witnessed his comrade fall victim to the smoke bomb, he reared back quickly to try and avoid the powder, but he wasn’t fast enough. Almost immediately upon it coming in contact with his skin, he began to swat at it to brush it off. The swatting rapidly became scratching, and a shout erupted from his chest as he fell victim to the powder’s intolerable itch.

Two down. The one who had been repelled by Ruddiger was trying to swat the raccoon with the sharp end of his halberd. Varian ran at him while the man was distracted, grabbing the pole with both hands and throwing his weight into pulling it away from the soldier.

The man held fast, his focus shifting back to Varian. He pulled, stronger than the alchemist in every way, but far less determined: Varian held tight, using his body weight to drag the halberd along between them. With the weapon out of commission, Ruddiger lunged again, this time directly at the man’s face. One errant claw scraped over the soldier’s eye, and immediately his grip on the halberd loosened enough for Varian to wrench it from him. With all his strength, he reared back, and swung the handle of the weapon at the man’s head.

The dull, almost comical sound of the halberd hitting his helmet sounded through the throne room, and the man stumbled back and fell.

For a blissful second, Varian stood in a rush of victory. The soldier spewing smoke had stumbled clear across the room toward the door, too distracted to pay him any mind; the soldier who had been hit by the itching powder was writhing on the floor, scratching like mad; and the soldier whom Varian had just struck over the head was lying on the floor, disoriented and holding his eye in pain. 

“What is the meaning of this,” a deep voice boomed, so commanding that it brought the room to a halt. Varian froze, his stomach dropping through the floor, before he forced himself to turn toward the sound.

The doors to the side room had been flung wide open. Standing in the center of the threshold was King Frederic, his eyes glowing crimson and his face set in a deep scowl. His eyes tracked around the chaos in the throne room, taking in each baffling circumstance, before they landed on Varian.

A moment of shock passed over his face. It quickly turned to rage.

“You,” he snarled, low and loaded with the threat of violence. Then, louder, “Guards! Seize him!”

He had no idea that the guards were not, in fact, guards, but it didn’t matter. They were distracted by Varian’s defenses, and weren’t about to answer the king’s orders. The rage on Frederic’s face twisted into something even uglier, and he reached for his sword. 

This one, Varian recognized immediately, was not a ceremonial blade. 

“Your majesty, wait,” Eugene’s voice cut across the room, strained from exhaustion. Andrew was not letting up, unworried by the king’s sudden arrival. He wasn’t about to let Eugene intervene.

Varian stood rooted to the spot, his knuckles bone-white around the neck of the halberd. His ears were ringing, the alarm so sudden and so great that his mind had filled with unhelpful white noise. 

They had failed. The soldiers behind him were blocking his escape route, Eugene could not help him, and Varian could not,  _ would not _ fight the King of Corona. Frederic drew his sword and took a step forward, his body language hunched with an unspoken promise of violence, and Varian could not move.

Before he could spiral further into panic, Frederic drew up short. For a dizzying second, Varian thought that perhaps the curse was faltering, until he saw two slender hands wrapped tightly around the king’s bicep, and Arianna appeared at his side.

“Frederic,  _ no,” _ she pleaded, something between fear and anger in her own voice. “Do  _ not _ hurt him!”

The king pivoted halfway toward her, lifting his arm up and out of her grip roughly. He swept it backward, a hurrided and desperate attempt at pushing Arianna behind him, back into the side room, and it worked. “Get behind me, Arianna,” he demanded, pleaded, the anger only barely giving way for concern. As soon as she was no longer holding him back, Frederic turned bak to Varian.

“You will pay for what you’ve done,” he declared, surging forward. Varian stood in the middle of the throne room, mired in dread so thick that it made the room spin around him, watching as the king stormed forward, watching as the sword began to raise. He could barely hear Eugene calling his name, could barely register Ruddiger climbing into his shoulder and hunching up in preparation to leap at the king, when suddenly--

_ Clang! _

Frederic went rigid, his head snapping forward, his chin connecting with his sternum, before he fell forward into the elegant carpeting, out cold. Behind him, standing with a look of fierce determination on her face, stood Arianna. In her hands was Rapunzel’s frying pan, still vibrating from the force of the blow.

The fear that had just been pulling Varian toward the center of the earth suddenly evaporated, leaving him numb and confused. Arianna lowered the frying pan, her expression torn in a wince, regret and worry and anger and fear all competing on her face. Varian watched as the queen steeled herself, squared her shoulders, and looked directly at him.

For an absurd moment, all Varian could think of was how much she looked like Rapunzel.

“Your Majesty,” Eugene called, breaking the bizarre moment between Varian and the queen. Both looked over and found that the captain of the guard had managed to put himself between the both of them and Andrew. He was breathing hard, but his shoulders were set with fierce determination. 

Beyond him, Andrew was breathing hard, a wolfish grin pulling his face into something terrifying and tragically familiar. In his hand, he’d drawn a glass vial from his vest.

It was about the size of a grapefruit, with a bulbous base and a long skinny neck. Inside, red smoke swirled in a dull glow, trapped by a rune that had been etched directly into the glass. 

The curse.

“Go,” Eugene ordered, his voice ratcheting with realization and alarm. He did not turn to look at them, keeping his eyes squarely on Andrew.  _ “Go!” _

“Eugene,” Varian replied, ready to argue, ready to disagree. “I’m not leaving you--”

But Arianna found his hand, grabbed it tight, and began to pull him away. Varian stumbled, nearly losing his balance as he tried to get free of the queen’s grip. He could help--they could stop the curse, he could keep Eugene from becoming a redeye--

Looking wildly over his shoulder, Varian caught Andrew’s eye. The man was staring directly at him, that wolfish grin twisting into something cruel, something almost inhuman, a king of glee that sent an icy bolt of horror right down Varian’s spine. 

Arianna stopped only long enough to throw open another set of doors, into a long dark hallway beyond the throne room. Once, Varian had watched his father lie to the king about the black rocks from behind these doors. Now, the hallway swallowed them as the queen pulled him into it at a run. 

The last thing that Varian saw was Andrew, lobbing the vile directly at Eugene’s feet. He heard it shatter, heard the smoke erupt outward in a loud hiss, heard Eugene stumble and cough and try to cover his mouth.

Arianna did not slow down. She pulled him further into the dark hallway, and after only a few more seconds of resisting, Varian stumbled along after her, his heart hammering against his ribs, his ears ringing.

_ Eugene. _ The man had been a constant companion since they’d fled the library, since this whole nightmare had begun. He’d looked out for him, protected him, trusted him. And after all that, after all their near-misses and dizzying victories, Varian had lost Eugene to the curse the instant they’d tried to follow through with his plan to find the spy. 

It was his fault.

At the end of the hallway, they came upon another set of double doors. They were beautifully carved mahogany, likely hundreds of years old, but that didn’t stop Arianna from promptly bringing the frying pan down on the handles, smashing through the soft metals and breaking the lock open. She pushed her shoulder into them and forced them open.

“Hurry,” she gasped, taking only two steps into the new hallway before she realized that Varian was not beside her.

He stood in the threshold, staring at her with wide eyes. He was breathing fast and ragged, but not from their brief flight down the hallway. His shoulders were shaking. Anxiety had him in a vice-like grip, and he was powerless to break free of it.

Arianna stared at him for a moment, clearly at a loss for what to do. They had to keep moving--even Varian knew that, despite the state he was in. But Eugene was back in the throne room, coughing loud enough for Varian to hear even from the distance they were at, and he couldn’t move.  _ It was his fault-- _

“Varian,” Arianna said, her voice hushed. 

“It’s my,” Varian tried, the words catching in his too-tight throat, his breathing too rapid for him to form a complete sentence on the first try. “Eugene,” he tried again, as if his name would explain what he meant. “It’s my fau-”

But he couldn’t finish the sentence. It was too difficult to process, too horrifying to understand. Eugene was back in the throne room, his eyes glowing red, and it was Varian’s fault. They’d failed.

Arianna’s expression softened. Realization passed over her. “Oh, sweetheart” she whispered.

She stepped toward him. They were alone in the hallway, had no time to waste, but she stepped toward him anyway, her hand coming to rest where his neck met his shoulder. She looked him square in the eye, heartbreak visible on her face.  _ “None _ of this is your fault.”

It was like a bell being struck, somewhere deep inside of Varian’s chest. He stared up at her helplessly, not comprehending her words, and she smoothed her thumb over a bruise on his jaw the way a mother might comfort her child. 

“Oh  _ Varian…” _

Andrew’s sing-song voice had Varian whirling around to face the way they’d come. He was stepping into the dark hallway, a curl of red smoke twisting around his ankles. He moved casually, confidently, reaching up to pull a mask down from his face as he went. He turned his eyes down the hallway toward them, and his smile sharpened. 

Arianna’s hand dropped from the side of his neck and found his hand again, grabbing it tight. Without a word, she turned into the new hallway, and took off at a run, pulling Varian with her. 

This time, Varian did not resist her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=sKhl7JGGSPOfLCcjUHgeiQ
> 
> 1) "Not In Blood, But In Bond" - Varian and Andrew meet.  
> 2) "The Bielski Otriad" - The throne room debacle.


	22. Trespass Against Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varian and Arianna find refuge; it does not last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's a long chapter, fellas. A real long doozy of a chapter. Just a real emotional roller coaster, boys. A real kick in the pants.

If Varian had been alone, he’d have dead-ended himself within minutes. In his panic, the castle was an unfamiliar labyrinth of locked doors and hallways he had never seen before. Andrew would have caught him almost immediately.

But Varian was not alone: he was, impossibly, being shepherded by Queen Arianna, who led him out of Andrew’s line of sight and into a parlor without hesitation. There in the far corner of the room, the gilded wall parted to reveal a secret doorway, which she ushered him through without a sound. Varian followed her lead, numbly pursuing the tail of her dress through a twist of secret doorways and back halls that he’d never known existed. 

It went by in a blur. Only minutes ago, Eugene had been clear-eyed and ever-present, and Varian had been certain that the queen was the spy. Both circumstances had changed so quickly and so dramatically that it left his head spinning, and suddenly he was alone with the one person--the _only_ person--who Varian feared more than anyone else.

Abruptly, they stumbled into a room he recognized. How they had navigated from one wing of the castle to another without passing through a single familiar space was beyond him, but Varian nonetheless found himself standing in the dark, empty library. 

Arianna began at once to push against one of the heavy oak tables, gripping the intricate carving on its legs to get some purchase. Varian only allowed himself a moment to look around in numb silence before he realized what she was doing, and joined her.

“Two should do,” the queen whispered between breaths as soon as the first table was in front of the library’s main doors. Varian went robotically to the second table with her and put his weight into it. 

Despite their combined might, the table moved painfully slowly across the floor, snagging on the rug repeatedly and creaking in protest.

When the door was finally barricaded, both Varian and the Queen stood catching their breath in the middle of the large dark room. Neither said a word.

The last time Varian had stood in this room, his arms had been red with blood, and the king had been trying to kill him. The thought made his bandaged forearms pulse with a dull ache. Echoes of that morning rang in his ears: Rapunzel telling Eugene to get Varian to safety, the clatter of armor, the ring of confusion and fear. Absurdly, Varian thought of how Eugene had rammed the king with a table, and wondered how he had managed to push it so hard on his own.

Adrenaline, maybe.

Now, the library was jarringly silent. The long heavy curtains had been pulled over the arched windows, casting the room into darkness. The balcony wrapped around the room above their heads, books from floor to ceiling with a fleet of rolling ladders to grant access to them. Two spiral staircases led up to the second floor in a beautiful swirl of carved metal, swooping lines that drew the eye up.

It had always calmed him down. Varian reached for that sense of peace now, but it was not forthcoming.

He startled badly at the feeling of a hand settling on his shoulder, whipping around to stare at the queen with wide eyes. She retracted her hand just as fast, instead holding it up as though she were trying to sooth a spooked animal.

“Are you alright,” she asked softly, almost a whisper. Her face was the picture of concern, and Varian couldn’t comprehend it. Arianna had never been anything but kind to him, had always had a sincere smile on her face when he caught her attention. She’d made it a habit to always ask how he was, or how his projects were coming along, as though she really wanted to know. 

It was the most horrifying, confusing torment Varian had ever known.

When his silence dragged on for too long, her expression softened, an unnamable sadness creeping onto her delicate features. He had no idea what she was seeing, what he looked like. He was bruised, exhausted, unsure whether or not he was going to cry. Defeat hung heavy from his shoulders.

For a moment, Arianna looked like she might try to reach for him again, the desire to comfort plain on her face. Before she could--and much to Varian’s relief--she took a deep breath, steeled herself, and changed gears. Something in her expression hardened with conviction when she spoke. “We’re going to get through this, Varian,” she said. “We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

Varian stared at her. His head began to shake back and forth with the barest of movement. He couldn’t understand what she was saying to him. Only earlier that day, he’d been sure she was the spy, and here she was comforting him. _Him,_ the reason this was all happening, the one person she could blame for her cursed husband and sleeping castle. He was the reason Trevor had started all of this, the reason Andrew was stalking the castle looking for them, flanked by who knows how many guards. 

But he didn’t know how to explain this to her. He didn’t understand how it wasn’t _obvious,_ how she didn’t simply understand that he was the problem. Because she was looking at his arms now, frowning at the frayed edges to his bandages and the refreshed red stain that kept seeping through with each reopening of the injuries. She was looking at his arms and she looked angry and protective the same way Rapunzel did, the same way Eugene did, and _he didn’t understand why._

“Okay,” Arianna said, snapping to attention, “here’s the plan. Somewhere in here has to be an answer to this problem, and we’re going to figure it out together. Xavier said he gave you a book--one with a way to break the curse. Do you have it?”

Numbly, Varian dropped his eyes to the front of his vest, his hand moving to his breast pocket and the book that lay within. He withdrew it on autopilot, holding it uncertainly between them. “Uh,” he answered, hardly making a sound, still reeling from her support, her comfort.

She took it as confirmation, her eyes lighting up with hope at the sight of the book. “Did you know about it? Have you looked through it already?”

Varian stared at her. “Yeah, but,” he whispered. The queen smiled, small and victorious, like this was a great bit of news to hear. 

“So we figure this out, and we use the back hallways to get to your lab if you need anything from there. They won’t know what hit them.”

As she spoke, she strode across the room to the grand fireplace. Two wingback chairs faced it, quaint amidst the finery of the castle. She took hold of one and turned it to face the doors before settling into it, looking at him expectantly. “So let’s start.”

She made it sound so simple that Varian wondered if she truly understood the scope of the problem. He stood rooted to the spot, viscerally uncomfortable. Shame, guilt, and fear vibrated within him. He couldn’t meet her eye. He had no idea what to do with himself. How could she be so confident, so sure that they would succeed? How could she look at him and see an ally, after everything that he had done?

The queen seemed to sense his confusion and despair. She took a long breath, let out a longer sign, and gestured toward the other armchair. “Please,” she asked softly, requesting that he join her without spelling it out.

For a moment, Varian thought about shaking his head. He thought about the servant’s hallway at the back of the library and wondered if he should keep running, but for her sake or his, he didn’t know.

Steeling himself, the alchemist crossed to the other chair and carefully maneuvered it to the spot beside her, which she kept her hand floating in to ensure he knew where to put it. When it was in position, he stood behind it with his hands gripping the wings of the chair firmly.

Arianna looked for a moment like she wanted to tell him to sit, but she didn’t. She regarded him silently, concern clear on her face, before she forced that look of confidence back to the surface and leaned forward to pat the seat of the chair.

“Why,” he asked before he could stop himself, almost breathless in how hopeless his misunderstanding felt.

Arianna blinked. “What?”

“Why are you helping me,” he clarified, his voice slowly returning as he began to put his confusion into words. “After everything, I-- This is all my fault. Your majesty, I’m the reason this is…”

The look of determination faded from her face, replaced by something confused, sad, heavy. She opened her mouth to argue, but he didn’t give her the chance.

“I did,” he started, pausing only to swallow and find his voice again. “I did things that were horrible and selfish. I attacked you and your family _multiple_ times! I helped the Saporians take over, I-- I nearly got the capital blown up, and you still--”

Tears rose up, choking him, making his throat tight. The truth of it all, the emotions he’d been holding back, surged upward from deep within his chest. It wasn’t a flood gate opening; it was a dam bursting.

He stared at her with open helplessness, gesturing in the air like he could somehow illustrate what he was saying, like could make her understand what he meant. “What I did back then _directly_ paved the way for what’s happening now. Because of me, the king, the whole _castle,_ they’re all cursed, and Equis wants a war, and Eugene is--” He took a half breath, and forced himself to say it. “Eugene is cursed too now, and it’s _all my fault!”_

Arianna stared at him. For a long moment, the only sound in the library was Varian’s ragged breathing, which hiccuped out of him as he struggled not to cry. It was a losing battle. When the first tear slipped free, Arianna’s head pulled back a fraction of an inch, as if the gravity of his confession just hit her.

“Did you make the curse,” she asked rhetorically. 

Varian blinked, immediately knowing what she was getting at. A flash of frustration burned through the shame and defeat that was crushing him, and his grip on the wings of the chair tightened. “That’s not the point,” he tried, but it was her turn to cut him off.

“Did you make the curse, or invite the Equisian army, or welcome Andrew into this castle?”

“That’s not what I mean,” Varian bit back, a few more tears escaping, his vision blurring with them.

“Did you run away and leave us to our fate?”

“Don’t patronize me,” Varian snapped, but the anger was only a thin facade, and they both knew it. Arianna fixed him with a firm gaze.

“Why are you blaming yourself for what others have done,” she asked, a sudden authority in her voice. Varian swallowed a sob before it could surge out of him, his frustration flaring, helpless and unheard. 

“Why don’t you hate me when I’ve given you every reason to,” he countered sharply.

A sharp, loud silence followed. Slowly, he began to process his own words.

 _Cassandra, standing in front of him in the old mill, her shoulders high and tight, vulnerable in a way he’d never seen._ _“Stop making excuses for me. I fucked up. I nearly destroyed Corona and everyone I loved, I nearly got you killed. Don’t write it off.”_

 _Don’t tell me how I should feel about you,_ Varian had answered. And now here he stood, doing exactly that to a woman whom he felt nothing but guilt and shame around.

Arianna watched as the anger fell from Varian’s face, a kind of quiet surprise taking over. Was this the same? Cassandra had been carrying the guilt of what she’d done to him, had refused to accept that he might have forgiven her. He’d had to pry it out of her, force her to look at the fact that he didn’t hate her. 

“Varian,” Arianna said, her voice quiet and level and without any room for argument. “The only person in this room who has not forgiven you for what you did, is you.”

He stared at her. His breathing deepened, quickened, wet and heavy gasps as a surge of emotions rose within him. Emotions that he’d kept deep in a well within his chest, boarded and bricked over, if not for his sake then for everyone else’s. Every bit of guilt and shame and humiliation rose into his throat as he stared at the queen, as she stared _back,_ steady and sincere and warm. 

For the first time, he did not try to stop it. His eyes welled with tears to the point of blindness, and he let them fall, his lip quivering like a child’s. “Why don’t you--” he whispered. “I don’t understand.”

Arianna’s face crumpled. She stood, smoothing her dress out of habit as she stepped around the chairs to approach him. Varian stepped back, but it did not deter her. This time when her hands found his shoulders, they did not retreat when he flinched. She looked him dead in the eye.

“You want me to be angry with you,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. “Because it’s easier to understand. You carry so much guilt with you, Varian, I swear sometimes I can _hear_ it. But the boy who did those things… I don’t see him in you anymore. I see a brilliant young man who would do anything to help his friends and his kingdom, even if it meant running back into the eye of the storm to save it.”

Her expression softened as she spoke, a sad fondness shining in her eyes. She loosened her grip on his shoulders and lifted one hand, her thumb smoothing away a tear from his cheek that Varian hadn’t noticed had fallen. “Once, maybe you would have left us to the fate of this curse. But you’re here, right now, because you have a good heart. Because I see in you the same courage and love that I see in Rapunzel. _That’s_ why it’s the easiest thing in the world to forgive you, Varian.”

Arianna’s face was watery and blurred through his tears. “I… I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m _so sorry.”_

Arianna smiled as her own eyes misted over. “Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered. She moved forward, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him into a hug that should have felt horrifying, but instead felt inevitable. Varian leaned into it without thinking, his shoulders shaking with hiccuping sobs. “It’s okay,” she soothed. “I know.”

With shaking hands, Varian gripped the back of her dress, slowly folding his arms around her and returning the hug. He was distantly aware that his tears were staining the shoulder of her dress, and he felt a ghost of humiliation in his gut, but he let that out, too. He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve her comfort or her forgiveness. How could he?

And yet, here he stood, with her holding him while he cried and whispering apologies again and again. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” he rasped. “I never wanted this. I’m so sorry.”

And she just held him, occasionally repeating her forgiveness, her understanding. “You were just a boy,” she said when he finally started to wind down. “You _are_ just a boy. You’re too hard on yourself, Varian.”

He kept his cheekbone on her shoulder, afraid that once he stepped back, he’d have to look her in the eye. Still, the moment was ending, the embrace beginning to stretch too long, and this wasn’t Rapunzel or Eugene. This was Queen Arianna, Crown of Corona, her Majesty Unto the Throne, and Varian had no right to be alone in her presence, let alone hide in her arms. 

To buy himself an extra moment, he stepped away and reached for his face, rubbing at his swollen eyes desperately to try and clear them. He listened to her take a deep breath, steadying herself. Her hands fell back to his shoulders, giving him a supportive squeeze. 

“Now what do you say we save the day, and then have a nice cup of tea?” Arianna’s voice was so warm, so comforting. Varian sniffled and wiped the backs of his tear-stained hands on his pant legs, tentatively looking up at her through his bangs. 

After an uncertain moment, he offered her a shaking smile, and nodded. 

It was his turn to take a deep breath and refocus his attention to the problem at hand. Feeling sheepish after his brief breakdown, he withdrew the small book from his breast pocket and turned it over in his hands. 

His last plan had failed. Finding the king had not, in fact, delivered them to the spy, and it had cost him dearly. He couldn’t afford to be wrong again.

Varian opened his mouth to speak, the beginnings of a plan forming on the tip of his tongue. He was abruptly cut off by the sound of the servant’s door being shoved open.

In an instant, both Varian and Arianna whipped toward the sound. Arianna grabbed up the frying pan, which she had set on the seat beside her when she’d sat down; Varian reached into his pocket and snagged the only remaining alchemy bomb he had on him, but without looking, he had no idea what it was. His heart leapt to his throat, expecting Andrew, expecting guards, expecting--

“Your Majesty,” Nigel said, his voice a sharp huff of relief. “Thank goodness you’re alright!”

“Nigel,” Arianna gasped, her shoulders falling and the frying pan lowering. “You scared us half to death!”

“Apologies, your Highness,” Nigel said quietly, stepping further into the library. “I have been searching for you since the Saporians attacked. You must come this way, I can lead you to safety.”

He gestured back toward the door to the servant’s hallway, ushering them forward with urgency. Arianna turned and offered Varian a relieved smile before starting across the room, gesturing for him to follow. The tide, it appeared, was turning in their favor.

“Well we’re awfully glad to see you, Nigel,” Arianna admitted as she approached him. “How on earth did you get out of the throne room after they attacked?”

The question was almost lost in the rush of relief and recalculating that Varian was churning through. When it registered a few seconds later, he blinked. Halfway across the library, the alchemist slowed to a stop.

Ahead, Nigel was still gesturing for the queen to hurry along. “After you fled, the intruders followed you. I was able to escape,” he answered quietly. His full attention was on the queen, turned almost deliberately away from Varian.

Varian, who stood in the middle of the room, completely still. It felt like the world was falling in on him from a great height, the cold certainty of realization flattening him. There had been a third voice in the room that adjoined the throne. One that had been too soft to identify.

“We must hurry, your Majesty,” Nigel urged as the queen came up alongside him at the threshold of the small door. She stopped and turned to look over her shoulder, realizing for the first time that Varian was not immediately behind her. When she spotted him standing in the center of the library, she blinked, confusion appearing on her face.

But Varian was not looking at her. He was staring at Nigel.

_Find the king, find the spy._

Someone who was close to the king, who Xavier would not question an order from. Someone who could deliver the curse to the king and queen without being suspected.

“You,” Varian said softly. 

Arianna’s expression flickered for a moment, not understanding why Varian was stalled in the middle of the room. Curious, she followed his gaze to Nigel as if the advisor might be able to offer up some explanation. 

It appeared for all the world that Nigel had not heard him. “We must go, your Highness,” he said, addressing Arianna and keeping his body language turned toward her. “The Saporians could be here any moment.”

But Varian’s rigid posture had stilled something in the queen, and she was hesitating, the picture of growing confusion. She did not move.

“It’s you,” Varian repeated a little louder. With each passing second, the realization was becoming more and more certain, and this time, his tone had an edge to it.

Nigel sniffed, irritated that Varian was an anchor dragging their escape to a halt. “I have no idea what he’s talking about, your Majesty, but if we don’t move--”

“What do you mean, Varian,” Arianna said, her confusion touched by suspicion now as Nigel was trying to rush her along regardless of the shift in the room. She did not move away from the advisor, but she regarded Varian with something he’d seen before in Rapunzel’s gaze, an acknowledgement that there must be a reason why he was behaving this way.

“We must retreat to a safe place,” Nigel urged, his patience thinning. “It is my duty to--”

“He’s the spy,” Varian answered, his tone strangely hollow as the last few pieces of the puzzle slid into place in his mind.

Because now that he’d realized it, it was obvious, wasn’t it? His guilt had led him to believe it could be the queen, his anxieties speaking louder than rationality. But it never could have been her, even if she _had_ still resented him for what he’d done. 

It only ever could have been Nigel.

The realization was a dizzying shock of cold in his stomach, going off like a pipe bomb the minute he said it out loud. He only barely stopped his fist from crushing the alchemy bomb in his hand. He felt a flash of relief at having found the spy, immediately replaced with the horror that the traitor was standing right beside the queen. Finally, Varian could look at the person who had done all of this, and it wasn’t satisfying--it was terrifying. 

So he did something that he’d worked hard to unlearn over the last few years: Varian let his fear turn to anger. 

“You’re working with the Saporians and Equis,” he clarified, his voice sharpening. _“You_ brought the curse into the castle.”

The man sniffed and turned his nose upward, looking like he’d just been savagely insulted. “How dare you,” he huffed. “I am a loyal servant of the crown!”

Varian could see a number of things flash across Nigel’s face, even in the darkened library. Anger, defensiveness, incredulity. What he did not see was surprise.

“That’s not a denial,” Varian said in a low voice.

Arianna looked between them, her concern overshadowed by her confusion. “Varian,” she said slowly, “what are you talking about? What spy?”

Varian took a stabilizing breath and turned to face her. “Queen Arianna, someone who is close to you and the king is working as a traitor. They brought the curse into the castle and ordered Xavier to make enough weapons to arm Equis’s invasion.”

A confused frown was deepening on Arianna’s face. “Weapons?” She looked toward Nigel, but did not give him enough of a pause to explain. “We knew about Equis positioning for a war, but we were preparing by reaffirming treaties and trade agreements with other kingdoms. Nigel, did you order weapons to be made in secret?”

“Of course not,” Nigel answered immediately. He turned his full attention to face Varian, nostrils flaring. “I won’t stand for this insult,” he declared. “You’re going to waste our time with these childish and baseless accusations while an enemy of the crown closes in on the Queen! I have dedicated my entire life to this kingdom, how _dare_ you accuse me of creating a curse that would tear it apart!”

Varian’s head lifted a fraction of an inch, surprise flickering among the anger. “I never said the spy created the curse,” he said slowly. “How would you know that?”

Nigel glared at him. Even at the distance that he was at, Varian could see something click behind the man’s eyes, a subtle readjustment. He had not anticipated an inquisition, perhaps had not expected Varian to be with Arianna at all. Before his eyes, Varian watched Nigel begin to readjust.

Arianna fixed her gaze on the royal advisor. Her expression was cautious, but not openly untrusting. And perhaps it wasn’t fair to expect that; after all, she’d known Nigel for years, had trusted him through all the kingdom’s hardships. 

She was waiting for him to offer up a reasonable explanation, a counter-argument that would clear his name. But Nigel was taking too long a pause, recalibrating, determining what to do next. Varian could see it plainly, like an opponent plotting their next moves in a chess match. 

“Is it such a leap to make?” Nigel kept his tone even, his nose turning upward in further disdain. “It was not conjured from thin air. For all we know, this is some elaborate ruse of _your_ making to get revenge on the queen where you once failed!”

Varian felt his anger swell within his chest, and he let it come. “Why would I have _any_ reason to wish the royal family harm, after everything they’ve done for me?”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less than utter _deceit_ from the likes of you,” Nigel snarled, his contempt just a bit too genuine, a bit too revealing. At the sound of it, Arianna’s chin lifted, the picture of authority.

“Enough,” she declared. “Varian is not responsible for what has happened.”

“Your majesty,” Nigel began to protest, turning toward her with an argument on the tip of his tongue, his tone shifting from anger to something more reasonable. He was changing gears, adjusting to the circumstances as they came. Varian stepped forward to speak first, unwilling to listen to the man gaslight him.

“You’ve never hidden your contempt for me,” he said. “All that anger, that’s what’s making everyone so violent, isn’t it?”

This was true. While there were plenty of people that gave Varian sideways looks and expressed a certain mistrust around him, Nigel had always looked at him like something foul that had to be scraped off of the bottom of a boot. Hell, even _before_ the disaster with the automatons, the man had been openly scornful of him.

Nigel took a deep breath, visibly settling his frustration. When he spoke next, it sounded reasonable and measured, the very picture of a mature adult dismissing a child’s accusation. “Your majesty, the request for arms came from the King himself, when he learned of Equis’s intentions.”

Varian blinked. The explanation was more than a distraction, more than Nigel turning attention away from himself; it was an insult to both Varian’s and Arianna’s intelligence.

“He’s lying,” Varian cut back, unable to smooth his tone the same way that Nigel had. “If King Frederic was preparing for war that urgently, he’d have supplies of all kinds saved up, food and medicine and resources! And he’d tell _you,_ wouldn’t he?”

This, Varian was not sure of. It was less an attempt at stating a hard fact, and more one of appealing to Arianna’s sympathies. After all, Frederic had carried out more than one scheme without letting anyone know.

But his question seemed to hit home. Arianna knew Frederic better than anyone alive. She turned her eyes toward Nigel with a raised eyebrow, a silent demand for an explanation. 

Nigel appeared nonplussed. He took a deep breath, looking for all the world as though he were simply impatient to keep moving. “Let’s say this disaster is not the work of this boy,” he offered, sounding both reasonable and patronizing. “Say there _is_ a spy, and that other evils are afoot. He is traumatized and exhausted, desperate to fix a wrong he caused by affiliation. Accusing the first person he does not have direct loyalty to makes sense.”

Anger bristled up Varian’s spine. Nigel was trying to turn attention to Varian’s behavior, to distract both of them from the original accusation. He’d seen Andrew do it time and again, had fallen for it on many occasions, and seeing it now was nearly intolerable. 

“You know what’s interesting?” Varian asked in a low voice. “When I accused you of being the spy, Queen Arianna looked like it was the first she’d heard of one. But _you_ didn't seem surprised at all. You immediately denied being one, rather than claiming to not know what I was talking about.”

Nigel cut a dark look his way, something insufferably haughty, like Varian’s accusations were embarrassing him. Just beneath it, rage was boiling. “I implore you, your Majesty, we do not have time for this.”  
  
“I think we do, Nigel,” Arianna said evenly. “I also find that interesting. I had not heard of a spy in our midst before now, and you still have not offered a good reason why those weapons were ordered to be made. Clearly, it was not my husband who did so.”

“Because _he_ ordered them,” Varian offered, pushing a finger toward the advisor. He gripped the alchemy bomb in his other hand carefully. “So that Trevor could find an easy arms cache when he arrived in the capital.”

“Ugly lies,” Nigel snapped, his lip curling fiercely at Varian. He looked abruptly back to the queen, trying to smooth the ‘measured adult’ facade back over his curdling anger. “He is deceiving you. Queen Arianna, I have served this house loyally for decades! This… this _child_ has brought ruin to your doorstep multiple times, and you trust his word over mine?”

For a moment, Arianna was silent. Her expression was unreadable but steady, looking more like controlled anger than anything else. When she spoke, there was no room for argument in her tone. 

“I trust him because Rapunzel trusts him,” she said evenly. “And _someone_ has orchestrated this nightmare.”

For the first time, something cracked in Nigel’s facade, something obvious even to the queen. He likely could have continued to talk them in circles if he chose to, but the implication of fault coming from Arianna, of all people, appeared to be one insult too many. 

“Your Highness, you have a delicate heart, and it is _infuriating,”_ Nigel said, his tone sharp and acidic. Arianna blinked, surprised to hear it, but Nigel did not give her the opportunity to speak. “My father and his father before him served this house, I have dedicated my _life_ to Corona, and for you to put your faith in the whim of a… a silly _girl_ and her criminal friends, instead of someone who has been _nothing_ but loyal--”

Nigel’s words cut off, choked by his own disbelieving anger. Arianna was staring at him as though he had struck her, startled to silence for only a moment before her expression hardened. 

“You will not speak to me this way, least of all about the Princess,” Arianna warned. Her tone, commanding and authoritative as it was, did not quell the anger that was beginning to boil up from deep inside of the advisor. Nigel did not let her finish.

 _“Years_ spent curating careful decisions, negotiating and sacrificing to bring Corona into the prime of its power, and you meet one _miserable_ little peasant with big eyes and put it all at risk! All because the Princess has a bleeding heart, and you cannot deny her!”

He spit his reference to Repunzel out like it burned his tongue, and only then did Arianna step away from him. She was moving through indignant anger and quickly coming out the other end with a look of realization on her face. She took a step backward toward Varian. 

But the advisor was not done. He lifted his arm, pointing an accusatory finger upward toward the wall, where an intricate marble relief carving depicted the royal crest of Corona. “My loyalties are to this kingdom, and this kingdom alone,” he declared. “And the kingdom cannot be put at risk to protect the redemption of an ungrateful little _brat!”_

Arianna had backed up several paces more, the frying pan held ready at her side. Unconsciously, she held it out before Varian as if to protect him, even if he was still several paces away from her.

But Varian was not paying attention to the queen, or the advisor spitting rhetoric before them. His eyes were trained on Nigel’s side, where his tailored coat had lifted slightly with the rising of his arm.

From the inner pocket, there emanated a soft, red glow.

Varian’s expression fell blank. Before him, Arianna was saying something, and Nigel was spitting something back, the very picture of self-righteous anger. Varian didn’t hear any of it. Because finding the spy had only ever been a means to an end: what he really needed to find was the foci. And it appeared to be right in front of him.

He dropped his eyes to the alchemy bomb in his hand, and turned it over to better examine it in the darkened library. 

It was a flash grenade. 

“It is not for you to decide how this kingdom is ruled,” Arianna was saying, her words edged with anger and warning.

“Oh,” Nigel cut back, “but it is. All those years when the Princess was missing, and you and the king were beside yourselves with heartbreak, who had the focus to make hard decisions? Who stepped up to guide your uncertain hands? _I_ did. _I_ led this kingdom, like a first mate guides a ship through the storm while the captain is overboard!”

Varian was hardly listening, only paying enough attention to process the words, but not enough to react to them. Arianna was, after all, doing that for him. 

He had one shot. Everything hinged on it--Eugene and Cassandra had gotten him this far, had won him the chance to end this nightmare. He wouldn’t mess it up.

“Your majesty,” he said, his voice strangely steady. 

Arianna chanced a look over her shoulder, only acknowledging him because Nigel had suddenly proven not to be the ally she’d hoped for. Varian looked her in the eye and took a deep breath. 

“Cover your eyes.”

For a moment, Arianna only looked at him with confusion. Then Varian pulled his goggles up over his eyes from where they lay around his neck, and she understood. At the same time that Varian pulled back his arm to throw the flash grenade, the queen pulled her arm up over her eyes, hiding her face in the crook of her arm.

The flash was nearly concussive, a pulse of blinding white light that filled the dark room as soon as the bomb cracked open on the parquet flooring. Nigel shouted in surprise and reared back, blinded and disoriented. Varian moved, his own eyes shielded by the special filter on his goggle lenses. In only a few fast strides, he bolted across the room and tackled Nigel square in the chest, hauling the man directly to the floor.

Hands gripped the back of his shirt, pulling at him. Nigel was surprisingly strong, all lean muscle, and he writhed as soon as they came to a stop on the floor. Varian felt fingers grip his hair just above his ear, felt a sharp pain as his head pulled sideways, and on instinct, he turned and sank his teeth into the arm beside him. A cry of pain, and he was released. Another hand struck him, boxing his opposite ear and sending it ringing, before Varian’s searching hand clasped a small glass vial in the pocket of Nigel’s coat, and the alchemist pulled away from the man as quickly as he could.

The flash bomb had faded, but the damage was done. Free of his assailant, Nigel clawed at his eyes, desperate to rub some sight back into them. Varian stumbled away from him, looking only briefly toward Arianna, who was squinting in his direction. Even though she had shielded her gaze, the flash bomb had not entirely spared her, either.

His attention dropped to the item in his hand. A small vial, its neck twisted and its body heart-shaped, stared back. Varian’s stomach sank. For a confused moment, he wasn’t sure he was seeing it correctly. 

It was the vial that had once contained Xavier’s mood potion. The vial that Varian had long ago found in the creek near his home, and had siphoned the dregs of to create his truth serum. He knew that it had been recovered when he’d been arrested, but to see it now…

And glowing red, no less.

The foci.

With his heart hammering, Varian gripped the vial tight enough to stop the shaking in his hand, and took a deep breath. This was it. He just had to smash the damned thing, and the curse would end. While Nigel stumbled around with one hand outstretched to try and navigate while blind, and Arianna was only just starting to return to normal sight, Varian could end this right here and now.

He lifted his arm high above his head, took a fortifying breath, and flung it at the ground with all his strength. 

The vial struck the ground, pulsed red, and spun to a stop a few feet away. Whole. Unbroken.

“You wretched little shit,” Nigel snarled. Varian swung his wide, confused eyes toward the man. He had a hand covering his face, fingers parted to reveal one bloodshot eye.

“It can only be broken by _me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=bBA9QZTdQq-AhOAPs9nZJQ
> 
> 1) "Different Kinds of Cry" - Arianna and Varian reconcile  
> 2) "The Elder One Theme" - Nigel is revealed


	23. But The Passing of Greed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rapunzel and Cassandra find an ally, and plot their next move. Elsewhere, Varian is cornered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I've never written a fic that has gotten this much of a response before. You guys are the real MVPs. Larger Than Life, as the Backstreet Boys would say. Thank you for the support!
> 
> Out of curiosity, would anyone be interested in a playlist for this fic that is actual songs with lyrics, and not just filmscore? Asking for a friend.
> 
> (Also, my birthday is this week so the next chapter might be a bit delayed. We'll find out! Can't exactly party, what with covid bein' a thing.)

There was a stillness, somehow. The world around him slowed down, his ears ringing from the shock of Nigel’s biting statement. Several feet away, glowing a bright red against the wood floor, the foci remained whole and unbroken. 

Behind him, the queen hefted her frying pan, moving forward as though to strike, but Varian was frozen where he stood. He had to recalibrate, had to  _ move, _ but he couldn’t get himself to budge. Because if they couldn’t break the foci, then there was nothing that could--

“Guards,” Nigel barked, lifting an arm and pointing an accusatory finger at Varian and Arianna. “Seize them both!”

The queen faltered at the sight of red-eyed guards spilling into the library through the servant’s entrance. They’d been waiting for an order, just outside of the room, ready to pounce. Nigel had come prepared, and Varian couldn’t think, couldn’t adjust, couldn’t  _ move. _

Clattering armor fractured the relative silence of the library. Arianna stepped in front of Varian, her arm outstretched protectively the same way Eugene and Cassandra had done again and again in the hours leading up to this unfolding nightmare.

“Stand down at once,” Arianna ordered, her voice hard with an authority Varian had never quite heard from her. And some of the men--despite their glowing red eyes--hesitated, driven to obedience from years of loyalty and to the crown. But it was Nigel, now protected behind a wall of armed guards, who spoke next.

“The alchemist is threatening Her Highness! Bring her to safety!”

It was the right thing to say. The guards broke through their uncertainty and surged forward. Sensing the hopelessness of her demand, or perhaps purely out of instinct, Arianna turned away from the advancing guard to face the young alchemist behind her.

Varian looked up and met her eyes. It was like looking out over the ocean to see a tsunami rushing at him, all power and unshakable determination, an unquestionable confidence he could not name. The sight of it broke him from his numb stupor, a sharp intake of breath drawing him back to reality.

It was quickly followed by Arianna’s hands on his shoulders, pushing him away, getting him to move. He thought he heard her yell for him to run, but over the sounds of the guards and the ringing in his own ears, he wasn’t sure. 

The next few moments passed by in fragments; he wasn’t thinking so much as he was moving on instinct. He pivoted, obeying the queen’s orders without question, and dove for the glowing vial on the floor. As soon as his back was turned to the guards, his only option was to keep moving, and he did so. Letting the momentum of Arianna’s push propel him, Varian ducked for the foci, scooped it into his hand, and bolted toward the nearest spiral staircase. 

He didn’t have time to think about leaving her behind. He didn’t have the luxury of hesitation.

Behind him, he could hear Arianna demanding that she be released. He could hear guards pursuing him, could hear Nigel screaming at them to capture him. Varian did not slow, did not look over his shoulder. He reached the stairs and began to climb, grabbing the railing with his free hand to pull himself up the curving narrow steps as fast as he could. The loud clatter of his feet on the iron stairs was only amplified when the guards reached the bottom and pursued. 

Varian’s thighs burned from the effort, but upon reaching the top he had put some distance between himself and the pursuing men. He bolted down the length of the balcony, flying toward a small door that was set into the mahogany panelling between the shelves. 

His elation at finding an escape route was quickly interrupted. When his hand gripped the old brass handle and turned, it did not budge. The door was stuck in its frame. 

The world around him slowed, a perfect bolt of clarity flashing through his mind, dulling the panic that drove him. This was a problem he could solve, and he could solve it immediately. The old doors in his house stuck all the time from decades of swelling wood and shifting frames, and somehow, the familiarity of it sharpened his focus. He drove his shoulder directly into the door, jarring it enough to unstick it from the frame. When he pulled again, it opened with a pop and a loud creak, revealing a dark hallway within. 

_ “Do not let him escape,” _ Nigel howled, his reedy voice cracking from the sheer volume of the order. The guards were stumbling into one another as they pursued down the narrow balcony, too overwhelmed by the anger of the curse to properly work together. 

A stuck door would not stop them, though, even with all their fumbling. Varian had to keep moving, had to lose them in the castle’s depths. He turned a frenzied look over his shoulders, a fraction of a second lost, only to find Arianna staring up at him.

Two soldiers held her by either arm. Her chin was held aloft, untouchable and powerful even as her own royal guard held her prisoner, and that tidal wave of urgency in her eyes was as sharp up in the balcony as it had been right in front of him. It was unflinching; she regretted nothing. 

Varian tried to find that surety in himself, tried to mirror her confidence. Without another second to lose, he turned and ran into the dark hallway. As the library grew further behind him--keeping with it the sound of guards, Nigel’s shouting orders, and Arianna’s stoic silence--he clenched his hand tight around the foci. The hallway was dark, but the red light emanating from the vial was enough to guide him.

He was leaving the library and its dangers behind for the second time. And this time, he was alone.

-

Rapunzel and Cassandra arrived at the throne room to find the large double doors wide open. Passing through the threshold, it was immediately clear that there had been some kind of fight, if only because there was still the lingering sulfuric scent of one of Varian’s smoke bombs. 

Despite that--despite the tears in the rug, the scuffs on the marble, the listing tapestry near the throne where a sword had nearly cut through it--the large room was empty. Rapunzel stormed further inside, her frying pan tight in her grip. On her shoulder, Pascal’s eyes swivelled this way and that for any sign of a threat.

Cassandra followed closely, her own weapon drawn. A ball of lead sat in her stomach, made heavy by not knowing what had happened. Where were Varian and Eugene? Where was the king? Had they found the spy? How had the battle moved, and where to?

She would have preferred to walk head-first into a fight. At least then, she’d know what to do.

“Look for anything that could tell us where they went,” Rapunzel said, staring down at a scrape on the floor that had almost certainly been made by a sword point. 

“If the spy was here,” Cassandra replied, “they could have had reinforcements. Redeyed guards, or another conspirator. Do you think there could be more than one spy?”

The question betrayed a dread she was afraid to acknowledge, but when Rapunzel looked up to her, it was with a shake of her head. “I don’t think so,” the princess said carefully. “Whoever they are, they managed to keep their intentions a secret for a long time. The more people who know a secret, the more likely it is to be exposed. Coups either require most of the court to be in on it, or no one to suspect anything at all.”

Something sharp shifted in Cassnadra’s chest, familiar now after a year. When she’d betrayed Rapunzel, her success was only because she’d kept her intentions buried deep until the moment she chose to strike.

“You suspect a coup,” Cassandra asked, her voice hollow in her ears as she tried to force her attention back to the present. 

“No,” Rapunzel admitted, unaware of her friend’s brief crisis. She sighed as she turned slowly to examine the room as a whole. “But whatever this is, the same degree of caution would be needed. The spy clearly wants things to go back to the way they’d been, back before we left for the Dark Kingdom. It’s as if they want to reset the clock.”

Cassandra winced. She wasn’t overly fond of how well she could relate to that. But dwelling on the past wasn’t going to help them, no matter how many memories were resurfacing now that she was in the castle. None of them could afford for her to be led by distraction. Varian needed her focus, if nothing else.

Before she could shake her guilt off and refocus, something caught her attention. There was a flash of grey, the scuttle of small claws on the marble floor, and then there was Ruddiger, his tail frizzed out and his hackles raised. The raccoon skidded to a stop between Cassandra and Rapunzel, chirping loudly.

“Ruddiger,” Rapunzel gasped, “are you alright?”

This question seemed to Cassandra like a waste of time, no matter how genuine its intent. Ruddiger seemed to be of the same opinion, shaking his head once and scratching irritably at the floor. Rapunzel corrected course. 

“Where is Varian,” she asked instead, her words sharpening with focus. 

The raccoon shook his head with a whine, his puffy tail tucking down in panic. 

“If only one of us had an animal companion that could talk,” Cassandra grumbled. Then, directed at the raccoon, she asked, “Was he okay when you saw him last?”

This earned a nod, but Ruddiger’s ears remained flat and back, the picture of worry. Their investigation of the throne room was raising only questions, and so far they had no leads besides a sulfurous smell and a panicked raccoon. Cassandra tightened her grip on her sword, frustration and impatience flaring in her chest. They didn’t have time to wander aimlessly and hope they stumbled upon Eugene and Varian. If the spy had been found out and had sent guards to attack their friends, then they had no time to waste. Varian and Eugene might already be dead, for all they knew.

It was then, like a stroke of fate, that the sound of voices reached their ears. Multiple people were approaching the throne room, the stomp of boots and the clatter of armor echoing down the hall. Rapunzel turned, coming up alongside Cassandra to face the door, her frying pan raised. Ruddiger growled like a cornered animal, bracing for a fight beside them. Whoever was coming, they were approaching fast.

Around the corner, a group of guards moved in loose order, marching in something that approximated an escort formation. They entered the room, a flash of chestnut hair visible between golden helmets, a purple dress glimpsed between breastplates. Rapunzel’s frying pan dipped, surprise overtaking her. Cassandra felt her own shock pass over her, but where Rapunzel’s defenses lowered, Cassandra’s only rose.

The guards were escorting Queen Arianna. 

They were not holding her, but something in the set of the queen’s shoulders told Cassandra that she was not being escorted willingly. Her face was set in a furious, stern expression. All of the men around her had red eyes. 

“Mom,” Rapunzel said, stepping forward into the path of the advancing guards. They shuffled to a halt, holding their halberts upright as though they were ready for a fight at any moment. 

“Rapunzel,” Arianna replied, her surprise breaking through the anger that she’d entered the room with. She had not expected her daughter to be here, and there was a sudden spark of hope on her face. 

“What’s going on,” Cassandra demanded, stepping forward to shield Rapunzel. She glowered at the nearest guard, a mustached man who’s name she couldn’t quite remember. He didn’t flinch, and neither did any of the other redeyes that flanked the queen. 

It was not a guard who answered, though, and neither was it the queen. From behind the posse that was escorting Arianna, a slender man in a fine red coat stepped into view, poised with the confidence of someone who had full control over the situation.

“Princess,” Nigel greeted dryly, “How good of you to be here of your own accord. It will make this much easier.”

For a moment--only the briefest of seconds--Cassandra wasn’t sure what he meant. She hadn’t expected to see him, had assumed he was among the many sleeping people they’d come upon since entering the palace. He was, after all, profoundly unthreatening and forgettable.

But the instant was quickly replaced by realization, and Cassandra pointed her weapon directly at him. “You,” she growled, lowering into an attack stance. The man looked down his nose at her, his lip curling in distaste. 

“Me,” he replied dryly. “Do forgive me, but I’ve had my fill of arrogant traitors accusing me of wrongdoing. My priority is the preservation of this kingdom, at any cost. Guards, ensure the princess is secured and looked after. Until that terrorist is captured, she is not safe.”

He gave this order with a sour twist to his words, barely hiding his contempt for Rapunzel as he spoke. Three of the redeyes, moving in an automatic daze, started forward.

Cassandra braced for combat, only barely acknowledging that she was about to fight the guard,  _ again. _ But Rapunzel stepped forward with her chin held high, resolution clear in the set of her shoulders, and held her hand out to still Cassandra before she could lunge.

“Why are you doing this,” she asked, her voice uncharacteristically hard. She was staring Nigel down with such an intensely commanding look that the guards who had stepped forward hesitated. 

Nigel’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t have to explain myself to a naive little girl like  _ you,” _ he said. “Seize them both.”

“Touch her, and you’ll lose your hand,” Cassandra warned, her sword flashing in the low light. The guards, who knew her as the captain’s daughter, who had trained with her and knew her strength, hesitated again. 

Nigel turned his sharp eyes toward her, his nostrils flaring. “I’ll admit,” he said, “I didn’t expect you to come crawling back after all you’ve done. These men may not remember how wicked you turned out to be, but I’ll see you hanged alongside your little friend all the same. Traitors should be made an example of.”

“If anyone should be hanged, it’s you,” Arianna said, reminding everyone that she was still there. “You don’t even  _ pretend _ to hide what you’ve done.”

“A wasted effort, your Majesty,” Nigel said in an infuriatingly simple tone. “In short order, you will all come around to my point of view.”

He meant the curse, Cassandra realized. She took a deep breath and looked to Rapunzel, who turned to meet her eyes. The agreement on what to do went unspoken between them, exchanged in a single look, and Rapunzel lifted her frying pan again.

“By now,” the princess said, “you think you’d know not to underestimate us.”

Nigel scoffed. “Oh, I think I have estimated the abilities of each of you perfectly well. It has been less elegant than I’d prefer, but this is happening under its own momentum now. You’re too late to stop me.”

“We’ll see about that,” Rapunzel said. It sounded like a threat.

Suddenly, the sound of a sword scraping from its halberd startled the guards out of their patient stupor. There was a flash of movement, a swirl of purple, and Arianna brought the butt of her stolen sword into the helmet of the nearest guard, stunning him and sending him to the floor. 

Neither Cassandra nor Rapunzel hesitated, moving into action with practiced familiarity. The guards, unwilling to attack their princess or queen, hardly put up a proper fight. Two even stumbled back, their hands raised in surrender, unwilling to engage. The rest met quick fates that matched the first, the clanging of sword hilts and a frying pan filling the throne room. Ruddiger, a grey ball of rage, darted between their feet and lunged from one to the next claws first, creating a perfect distraction. One after another, the guards dropped to the floor, unconscious.

It was laughable, how fast the tables turned. Funnier still how Cassandra and Rapunzel moved around one another like they’d been fighting together their entire lives, like there had never been a rift between them. Arianna, who had been an adventurer in her own right before marrying, held her ground with hardly any need for assistance, and even then it was only because she was rusty.

It was exhilarating to fight at Rapunzel’s side so fluidly. To sink her teeth into something practical, something physical, after the frustration of finding the throne room empty. When the last guard dropped, and the last three left standing were the three women, some small part of Cassandra was disappointed.

As quickly as it had started, Arianna stood beside them, armed and independent once more. The guards who had backed up were gone, and so was Nigel, vanished into the hallway during the chaos.

Cassandra surged forward to pursue, but before she could make it even two paces, a hand caught her elbow. When she turned, Arianna was looking at her with a grim expression. 

“Let him go,” she said. “He’ll face justice soon enough. Right now, we have to find Varian.”

This stilled Cassandra’s need for action, if only momentarily. 

“Have you seen him,” Rapunzel asked, hope gleaming in her voice between breaths. She was answered with a nod.

“He and I fled the throne room together,” Arianna explained, “to escape Andrew and the guards. We made it to the library, but we were found, and only Varian could get away.”

At their feet, Ruddiger whined, worried and desperate.

“Andrew,” Cassandra asked, her bloodlust roaring back. Anger burned in her chest. “That son of a  _ bitch.” _

“What about Eugene,” Rapunzel pressed. She was forcing herself to stay on task, a reminder that Cassandra had to focus as well. 

The grim expression returned to the queen’s face, a sadness pulling at her brow. “The curse,” she explained. “He gave us a chance to escape, but the smoke…”

Cassandra looked to Rapunzel. The princess’s face fell, and she looked for a moment like she might try to barter with her mother for a better answer, like she might deny what she’d just been told. Her eyes dropped to the floor, processing.

To buy her friend a moment, Cassandra spoke instead. “Nigel has a foci,” she explained. “Something that’s controlling this curse. We have to find him and destroy it.”

“Varian has it,” Arianna said, shaking her head. “He tried to destroy it in the library, when Nigel revealed himself as the traitor, but it didn’t work. Nigel claimed only  _ he  _ could break it.”

Rapunzel was glaring at the floor, her hands clenching and unclenching. Learning of Eugene’s fate had shifted something in her, hardening her worry to something more useful, something more like anger. After a pause, she looked up suddenly. “The person who made it has to destroy it,” she said, almost to herself. At the look of confusion from both her friend and mother, she took a breath and clarified. “I’ve been doing research. The foci is tethered to its creator, with blood. It’s a part of Nigel, it’s-- it’s linked to his memories, it feeds off of his anger. ”

“So you’re saying he’s right? That we can’t destroy it ourselves?” Cassandra spread her arms as if to point out how infuriating the idea was. “Then what the hell are we supposed to do?”

Rapunzel was breathing hard, her anger visible in every inch of her body. She stared into the middle distance for a moment, her jaw clenched, before she looked to her mother and Cassandra in turn. 

“We find Xavier.”

-

It took far too long for Varian to shake the guards, even with all the back hallways and side doors he twisted through. By the time he could no longer hear the thunder of boots at his back, he found himself several floors higher than he’d been, standing in a corridor with tall windows and an external balcony that faced the sea. 

The sun was setting low in the sky now, easing toward the horizon and casting a bright glare across the water. Two doors with glass paneling opened onto a balcony, and Varian shoved his way out into the cool evening air without hesitation. 

His hard breathing from running had turned into something else, something deeper. He didn’t quite have it in him to cry, and he was too infuriated to feel real sadness. He was just so  _ angry, _ so helpless and small in the face of this problem. An entire castle baring its teeth at him, trapping him in a maze of hallways and rooms he didn’t recognize, and it felt inevitable that it would all end in bloodshed. 

In his grip, he held the foci tightly enough that his hand shook. He stumbled toward the edge of the balcony, frustration and hopelessness welling within him, filling his lungs like acrid smoke. He held in his hand the only thing that could end this, and he couldn’t break it. 

He couldn't break the black rocks either, couldn’t break the amber that had encased his father. He’d come so close to solving a problem, only to find that it was impossible. The familiarity of his situation was enough to drive him mad, and if he wasn’t so worried about drawing every guard in the castle to his location, he would have screamed in rage. 

On impulse, he reared his arm back, the vial glinting in the low sunlight. He could throw it,  _ wanted _ to throw it with all his might into the abyss before him, the drop hundreds of feet down to a rocky sloping cliff that dropped even further into a cove. The sea churned below, dark in the shadow of the castle, and Varian held the foci aloft, his arm shaking. 

But the foci would not smash, and the curse would never end, and a momentary desire to fling his anger into the sea would damn them all. After a beat of tension so great that it made his shoulders ache, Varian stiffly lowered his arm, drawing the foci to his chest and holding it tight with both hands. 

He was breathing hard, still wavering between rage and heartbreak. He was standing there, eyes closed tight, listening to the sea and his own heart hammering in his ears, when he heard the glass doors to the balcony open behind him.

Varian whipped around. The part of him that was radiating anger was almost relieved, almost happy for an object to hurl his frustration at. He was immediately aware of the knife on his belt, the one that Cassandra had given him the night before. Maybe this  _ was _ a lost cause, but he was going to fight his way to the bitter end.

But when he turned, the sight he found was so disorienting that it froze him on the spot. Because in the doorway, Andrew stood with one hand on the elegant brass handle, holding it open for Eugene. 

“See? Just follow the sounds of self-loathing and desperation, and you can find him every time,” Andrew said with a grin, moving aside as Eugene stepped passed him. 

Varian’s stomach dropped. 

Eugene’s eyes were red, but something about it was different. They had a duller glow, and maybe it was only the setting sun, but Varian wasn’t sure they were glowing  _ consistently. _

“Varian,” the man said, low and dangerous, glowering across the balcony at his young friend as if they hadn’t just spent the last few days surviving together. As if he wasn’t the other half of Team Awesome.

“Eugene, listen,” Varian started, his heart hammering, “it’s the curse. Remember? Stop, just listen to me, this isn’t--”

But Eugene moved forward like a predator stalking prey, and all that anger that Varian had just been drowning it froze into fear in his gut. Disbelief and horror pulled at him, and he took a step back toward the railing. Eugene stopped, holding his ground halfway between Varian and Andrew.

Andrew, who appeared to be relishing each second of what was unfolding before him. He moved silently to the right, staying back behind Eugene but never once removing his eyes from Varian. He was positioning himself for the best possible view.

Eugene’s fists were clenched at his side. “This is all your fault,” he seethed. “You’ve put Rapunzel in danger, you-- the  _ queen _ in danger, and the smoke, it--”

Something in his expression faltered, confusion twisting on his face. His eyes flickered away and then back. 

And then Varian remembered. Tucked into the pages of the book Xavier had given them, that small pressed flower had offered a chance at immunity to the curse. They’d shared it, each plucking a small crisp petal from the stem and letting it dissolve on their tongues. It hadn’t seemed substantial at the time, and how could it? But they’d needed every defense they could get.

And while it hadn’t protected Eugene from the curse, it had kept him from being completely overwhelmed by it.

“The smoke is making you remember the past,” Varian explained, his voice careful and slow, “and it’s making you angry. Eugene, the automatons happened  _ three years _ ago.”

The captain’s frown deepened, the confusion frustrating him. Still, Varian’s words seemed to register somewhere deep in his psyche, and he reached a hand up to rub at his brow irritably. “The curse,” he repeated quietly, as though he were struggling to remember.

Andrew was watching closely. At any moment, he could destroy Varian’s attempt at getting through to Eugene, but he had to try. “Team Awesome, remember,” Varian asked softly, hope in his voice. 

The red in his eyes dimmed to almost nothing, and Eugene blinked, looking at him like he was beginning to come around. Then the red pulsed, and he flinched, the glare coming back. Eugene pressed his fingers into his hair and gripped it tight like he was fighting a migraine. He groaned, aggravated by his own uncertainty.

“Team Awesome,” Andrew repeated, like he was trying out the feel of it and found it lacking. “You never were very good at naming things.”

“Andrew is manipulating you,” Varian pressed, trying to ignore the Saporian. “Like he manipulates  _ everything. _ Eugene, you’ve been protecting me this entire time.”

“You hurt Rapunzel,” Eugene bit back, his teeth clenched as the headache grew. “You could have killed her!”

Varian flinched.  _ It’s Nigel’s anger, _ he tried to remind himself, but his guilt flared nonetheless. “Yes,” he admitted quietly. “I hurt Rapunzel. And the queen, and Cassandra, and you. And I have been trying to make it right for years. I’m sorry, Eugene.”

The apology did not align with whatever image the curse had given Eugene, did not make sense with Varian being a ruthless traitor. His eyes flickered again, and he groaned, gripping his hair with both hands now as if he could squeeze the headache away. 

“Oh,  _ boo,” _ Andrew groaned, “come on! I led you all the way up here, I at least deserve to see you get some revenge. This is the kid that nearly killed your wife, Fitzherbert! He could have killed the entire royal family, he almost took  _ everything  _ from you! Doesn’t that make you want to get revenge? Stop him from ever doing harm again?”

Eugene groaned again, louder this time, angrier then before. 

“Stop it,” Varian snapped, turning toward Andrew abruptly. “You’re torturing him! This is all your fault, you fucking monster!”

Infuriatingly, Andrew laughed. “Oh, I think between the two of us, this castle is pretty certain that  _ you’re _ the monster, Varian. But hey, I’m a nice guy! And we go way back, don’t we? So I’ll tell you what. If you agree to come quietly, and turn yourself over to Trevor, I’ll leave your little ‘found family’ alone,” he said, flexing his fingers around the words like they were a joke. 

Varian blinked. Andrew always had an angle, never did anything without an ulterior motive, but he hadn’t expected it to be this calculated. He’d assumed Andrew only wanted to get some sick satisfaction from watching Eugene attack him.

“Are you kidding,” Varian breathed before he could stop himself, shocked and affronted in equal measure. Eugene took a deep breath, struggling to clear his head. 

“Or,” Andrew said, “you can refuse, and I’ll get Rapunzel’s lap dog over here to beat you into paste. And before he can kill you, I’ll throw him over the side, and take you to Trevor anyway.”

“Why are you doing this,” Varian rasped, horror and anger and disbelief all competing to make it hard for him to breathe. Andrew’s expression tightened with sadistic glee at the sight. 

“Because, buddy,” he drawled, that sick pleasure sweetening his tone, “you’re going to help Saporia rise again, just like you promised. Whether you want to or not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=BLIJvlCFR2WvdRv0cxJOgg
> 
> 1) "Edward Returns" - Varian escapes the library at Arianna's behest  
> 2) "Rescue!" - Rapunzel, Cassandra, and Arianna fight off the guards  
> 3) "Where does that leave me?" - Varian is confronted by Eugene and Andrew on the balcony


	24. The Weight of Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varian and Andrew face off, once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting chapters is starting to feel an awful lot like appearing out of nowhere, throwing glitter in your eyes, and vanishing again. 
> 
> Glitter!

It was cruel irony, really, and if Varian wasn’t fairly certain he’d be dead by sundown, he’d have found it more amusing.

A broken promise was what had started all of this, back during that snowstorm when Rapunzel had been unable to help him save his father. Now Andrew stood across the balcony from him, coming to collect on a promise Varian himself had broken, a betrayal of the trust that had once bonded them together. And between them, puppeted by the redeyed curse and struggling to keep a clear head, Eugene was their only buffer.

It seemed entirely unfair that he should be drawn into this in any capacity. Varian had dug his own grave with the Saporians, and Eugene didn’t deserve to lie in it. Not after all he’d done to help Varian feel welcomed as the Royal Engineer, and certainly not after all he had done to keep Varian safe over the last few days. 

“Look, I’m a busy guy,” Andrew was saying, about as blithe as the situation would allow him to be. “So giving you a time limit to make up your mind isn’t really going to work for me. Either come over here now, or we go with option number two.”

Varian didn’t look away from Eugene, who was rubbing his temples and flinching against an invisible enemy. The red light in his eyes was dimming again, clarity starting to return.

Eugene lifted his face, and the two of them locked eyes. A faint pink glow radiated from the man’s pupils, about as dulled as the curse was going to get. Varian wasn’t sure what he expected, but the clarity he found was at once startling and thrilling.

Something passed between them, silent and unnoticed. A plan, communicated by only the barest movements of their brows. A sense of purpose suddenly brought everything sharply into focus, and Varian took a steadying breath. He could only hope that they were on the same page; that after several days of close survival, they had arrived at the same plan. 

Stubbornness and determination flared in Varian’s chest. “I don’t find your terms particularly agreeable, Andrew,” he said, voice too tense to be truly casual. “I think I’ll pass.”

It was hard to know what Andrew had been expecting Varian to say. The man barked out a single note of surprised laughter, his eyebrows arching in disbelief at the gall of the teenager before him. When he didn’t see any sign of hesitation on Varian’s face, however, the Saporian’s expression fell through several shades of sobering anger before settling on something smug.

“Fine. Fitzherbert, he’s all yours. Try to avoid any serious head injuries.”

The alchemist braced himself. The Saporian slipped his hands casually into his pockets, set on watching what for him would be wholly entertaining.

When the captain of the guard moved, it was quick and direct, shattering the standoff. Varian dodged to the left, narrowly avoiding a closed fist. He quickly lost ground; Eugene was considerably larger than him, and had ample combat experience. Within only a few short strides, Varian felt the railing of the banister collide with his lower back, stopping his retreat in its tracks.

“Eugene, wait,” he tried, before promptly dodging another fist and stumbling further to the left. He nearly toppled to his knees, but he caught the banister in the last second and tumbled just out of reach. “Please don’t do this! It’s the curse!”

A calloused hand snagged him by the shirt sleeve and stopped him short. Eugene’s other fist ducked low, colliding directly with Varian’s abdomen. It was harder than Varian had anticipated, and certainly knocked the wind from him, but he buckled forward further than he had to, staggered back with more breathless drama than was natural. 

“After everything you’ve put us through,” Eugene said in a low voice, “you expect me to show you mercy?”

Varian grabbed hold of the wrist that held his sleeve, looking up at his older companion pleadingly. “It’s not real, Eugene,  _ please  _ listen!”

He was abruptly yanked off balance, Eugene throwing him to the stone floor with ease. Varian landed in front of Andrew, who smiled down at him with a mock wince, as if to say  _ that must have hurt, buddy. _ The Saporian’s hands remained casually in his pockets.

Varian was quick to scramble to his feet, doing his best to keep out of Eugene’s range as the man stalked menacingly toward him. He put his hands up, but whether it was to placate the man or prepare to block another blow, it wasn’t clear. “Listen to me,” he tried again, “it’s  _ Andrew! _ The guy who tried to kill Cass, who wants to destroy Corona! Why are you listening to him?”

“You hurt Rapunzel,” Eugene snarled, his shoulders hunching with the threat of more violence. He seemed for all the world as though he were lost to the curse, his eyes still that soft, dull pink.

Varian began to back up, turning and circling away from Eugene with his hands still up. His path brought him around behind Andrew, who merely turned to watch with that grin still pulling at his mouth. Eugene followed closely, seemingly building up anger as he prepared for the main assault.

“I know,” Varian breathed, something deep and sincere making his voice shake. “I know I did. I didn’t care back then, but I--” 

With a bit of focus, the crocodile tears came easily: after everything he’d been through over the last few days, all the frustration and exhaustion and fear, a faint and misty glimmer welled onto his eyelashes. “You’re like a big brother to me, Eugene,” Varian stuttered, letting his voice waiver. “Please don’t do this.”

He had not anticipated how vulnerable the admission would make him feel, even in the circumstances they were in. He told himself it was just part of the drama, and really, it wasn’t hurting the plan at all--Andrew now stood between Varian and the balcony railing, which is precisely where he wanted him, and he didn’t appear to suspect a thing.

“You think I would want a traitorous brat like you for a brother?” Eugene cut back, too angry to be genuinely in character for him. Regardless, Varian flinched, a faithless voice wondering if perhaps Eugene was being sincere after all. 

He had to believe it was only for show. 

Not one to roll over and take blatant abuse, Varian stopped backing up and dug his heels in as soon as he was in position. “What, you think I want a pompous ass for a brother? We’ve been through too much for that to matter, Eugene,  _ please _ remember!”

Now between the two Coronans and the banister, Andrew laughed, making a soft noise of amusement at the exchange before him.

“All I remember is that you’re a selfish little prick who only thinks about himself,” Eugene shot back, stopping in his own advance to argue his point. He stood only four feet away from Varian, the two of them staring each other down. 

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you,” Varian shot back. “You all abandoned me to that snow storm, and left me to rot in jail so you could run off of a roadtrip with your girlfriend!”

Andrew scoffed. “You gunna take that, Fitzherbert?”

Eugene’s glare darkened. “She is my  _ wife, _ and  _ your _ future queen!”

“The queen of what,” Varian snapped. “A kingdom that has more festivals for made-up holidays than it does guards along its borders? A kingdom that nearly gets destroyed every year because it’s run by short-sighted pricks who don’t think about their actions?

“Ooh,” Andrew crooned in the background, the joyful audience almost forgotten as old frustrations seeped through Varian’s exhausted facade. 

Eugene’s fist shot forward, closing around the front of Varian’s shift and yanking him forward onto his toes. Nose to nose, the man glared down at him with danger sparking in his eyes. “Says the brat who attempted regicide,” he snarled. 

“Says the thief who stole the crown of their long-lost, presumed-dead daughter,” Varian shot back. Eugene shoved him then, sending Varian stumbling back directly into Andrew, who caught him by the shoulders to right him before pushing him back toward Eugene. 

The three of them were within range of each other now, and Varian was losing track of what was acting and what was real. He was shaking, and he didn’t know from what. 

“Look,” he rasped, “I said I was sorry! This is all the curse’s fault!”

“It sounds like it’s more than that, buddy,” Andrew sighed. Varian could  _ hear _ the smirk on his face, and it was so infuriating that it snapped Varian back into focus. 

“We can work this out,” Varian persisted, lifting his hands once again. He hoped he sounded more desperate than nervous.

“You don’t deserve mercy,” Eugene growled, stalking forward and rapidly closing the distance between them. Once again, their eyes locked, and the flitting doubt that had wedged its way into Varian’s chest vanished. The man lifted his fist, coiling it back for a big blow, and Varian feigned a duck, lifting his arms as though to cover his face, twisting to the side to try and get out of the way.

And then, in perfect sync, as though the two of them had practiced for years, both redirected their momentum and drove two separate punches into Andrew’s face.

The Saporian was knocked back so hard that his feet momentarily left the ground, landing hard on the balcony in front of the railing. Varian barely registered the pain in his hand, made worse by the knuckles he had already bruised from punching St Croix the same way. He moved, Eugene alongside him as they both swept forward and grabbed one of Andrew’s arms to hoist him up and toward the railing. 

“There are ropes tying the curtains back inside,” Eugene grunted, “I’ll hold him, you grab them!”

Trusting in his friend’s strength (and Andrew’s dazed state), Varian pivoted and bolted toward the open glass doors of the balcony. Just inside, huge heavy curtains were swept to the sides of the doors and tied back with velvet rope, the huge decorative tassels weapons in their own right. Varian grabbed and one and fumbled in untying it, shoving the heavy curtain out of his way as it fell from its place beside the door. 

His hands were shaking, his heart hammering in his chest. Having an advantage over Andrew never seemed to lose its thrill. 

Back out on the balcony, just as Varian emerged into the chill evening air, Eugene grunted and doubled forward. One hand released Andrew’s right arm, reaching instead for his forehead. The captain of the guard was being hit with another wave of the curse, trying to reassert itself despite the mild antidote he’d had earlier. How long would those petals last, Varian wondered, frantically racing back before Andrew could take advantage of his freed arm, before--

He was too slow. Andrew, stunned but not out of the count, took the opportunity as soon as he had it. The man drove his fist into Eugene’s throat, prompting a dreadful retching sound and sending the other man falling backward onto the balcony. Varian stumbled, his heart leaping into his throat as Andrew scrambled to his own feet. 

But the man didn’t pay Varian any mind. He turned instead toward Eugene, rage clear on his face. “Fuck it,” Andrew snarled, a bloody and broken nose making his voice more nasally and stuffy. “I should have killed you immediately.”

His fists grabbed the front of Eugene’s jacket and hauled him up toward the railing. Eugene, for his part, was still struggling to recover his breath, one hand on his throat and the other on one of Andrew’s wrists.

He wouldn’t recover in time to fight back. 

Andrew twisted, muscles coiling tight in anticipation. He was about to throw Eugene over the edge, right before Varian’s eyes.

The alchemist’s mind went silent. He moved without thinking, without plan or intent, his feet carrying faster than they ever had before. In an instant, he was colliding with Andrew, knocking the man off balance. Varian moved with more strength than he thought he had--more strength than he likely  _ did _ have. Because Varian wasn’t certain of much in this world, outside of what could be scientifically proven, but he did know one thing with an absoluteness that frightened him: he was not going to let Andrew hurt his family.

Not again.

The tackle flung Andrew against the banister, his grip immediately releasing Eugene to instead try to catch himself. But the man was too top-heavy, already in motion when Varian had rammed into him, and in a single flip, he was over the railing.

Two huge hands caught the front of Varian’s shirt, yanking him forward. His abdomen slammed into the banister, bruising the air out of his lungs, but it didn’t pull him over. Varian’s center of gravity was too low, his height finally--mercifully--in his favor. Instead, Varian opened his eyes to find himself doubled over the railing, with Andrew grabbing the front of his shirt for dear life.

The Saporian hung freely over the huge drop. Below, hundreds of feet of air ended jagged rocks, and further still, the churning sea. High tide was bringing in larger and larger waves, crashing against the rock wall and churning in the small cove. 

Varian gripped the banister with all his strength, and opened his eyes as soon as he managed to get a breath into his strained lungs. 

Andrew looked up at him wildly, an animal fear shrinking his pupils to pinpoints. He didn’t dare let go of Varian’s shirt to try for the banister, as the stone was rounded and smooth where it faced the sea, and Andrew couldn’t hold up his own weight with one hand. 

“Buddy,” Andrew gasped, a desperate laugh escaping him. “Come on now, pull me up.”

Varian stared down at him. He was afraid to even think about letting go of the banister. Andrew’s weight would pull him over if he gave it the chance, and Varian hadn’t come this far to die beside Andrew at the bottom of a cliff. 

“You wanna break the vial, right?” Andrew said quickly, panic clear in his voice. “I can help you do that! I don’t care about the curse, I can tell you how to reverse-engineer it!”

Below, a huge wave broke over the rocks. Varian’s heart hammered in his ears. He had been here once before, in the reverse: Andrew holding him by the collar over the edge of a great flying ship, with every intention of dropping him. But even that memory seemed far away, as did all the other wicked things Andrew had done. All the violence, the abuse, the manipulation, none of it mattered.

Because suddenly, all Varian could see when he looked down at Andrew was a man afraid to die. 

“Varian, for fuck’s sake, pull me up,” the man yelled, his voice ratched high with panic. 

Andrew was the worst boogeyman he’d ever known, had hurt him time and again, and he had no reason to believe that the man would simply walk away if he helped him now. 

And yet, Varian couldn’t think. He had the opportunity to get rid of his worst enemy, and absolutely no desire to do so. He couldn’t bring himself to pull him up, either, for fear that Andrew would immediately attack him once he was safe. And at any rate, Varian didn’t know if he had the strength to even lift the man. 

And so Varian stared, mouth agape, torn in two very different directions. Did he save Andrew, despite the risks? Or did he reach back, grab the knife Cassandra had given him, and set himself free?

Two strong arms appeared beside him, reaching down and grabbing onto Andrew’s wrists. Eugene, one eye closed tight from the pain of breathing through his bruised throat, was trying to keep the Saporian from falling. 

It snapped Varian out of his numb stupor. He dug his heels against the stone, trying to brace in what little way he could to help pull Andrew up. 

The slight stability of Eugene’s hold changed Andrew’s demeanor instantly. As soon as he had something more sturdy to reach for, he snagged Eugene’s wrist and tried to hang instead from him, pulling down on Varian’s shirt to try and pull himself up. Varian was jerked forward by the sudden motion, a cry bursting from his chest. He could feel his weight tipping over the banister, his tentative grip on the railing slipping, failing, his body tilting toward the drop below. Andrew was going to pull him to his death in order to save himself.

But Eugene was more alert than Andrew had suspected. The captain of the guard twisted his wrist free of Andrew’s grip, wrapping his arms instead around Varian to stop him from falling. The alchemist’s rapid slide to doom abruptly stopped, his shirt ripping under Andrew’s sudden full weight. Eugene hauled him away from the edge, powerful arms bracketing Varian’s torso.

Suddenly, both of them fell back onto the balcony floor, landing with twin noises of surprise and pain. For a numb moment, they simply lay there breathing, until Varian realized what he was hearing.

Andrew’s scream, rapidly fading as the man plummeted to the ocean below.

Varian was scrambling to his feet the instant he realized what had happened, throwing himself against the banister to looking down at the ocean below. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see--wasn’t sure he wanted to see it, whatever it was. But when his eyes found the waves, there was no Andrew. Only a parade of small rocks falling down the cliff where they had been disturbed, and a white ring of bubbles where the man had hit the water.

Ears ringing, Varian hardly noticed Eugene come up beside him. The alchemist stood with both hands gripping the banistor, knuckles white and heart racing. Andrew had fallen.

Andrew was gone. 

Gradually, Varian turned and slid down until he was sitting against the banister. He stared numbly over the balcony, back toward the glass doors where a heavy curtain now hung in the way. The velvet rope that had held it lay forgotten by the door. 

He sensed more than he heard Eugene sit down beside him. An arm draped over his shoulders, pulling him up against a broad warm chest.

“I’m sorry I called you a brat,” Eugene rasped, rubbing at his tender throat with his free hand.

“He just… fell,” Varian whispered.

Eugene was silent for a moment. His arm flexed, momentarily tightening around Varian’s shoulders. “But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t try to pull him up,” Varian continued. “I just stared at him.”

“He wanted to kill me and give you to Trevor as a slave,” Eugene said slowly.

Varian said nothing. That reality was still very much in the front of his mind, but it seemed suddenly so small. Would Andrew have succeeded? Would he have been able to throw Eugene over the railing, drag Varian out of the castle, and help Trevor attack Corona? Would Nigel, with his own schemes, have allowed it?

Nigel. The curse suddenly surged back into focus, and Varian took a deep, shaking breath. He didn’t have time to sit on the balcony with Eugene and process what had just happened. The foci sat in his pocket, hidden there when Andrew had appeared, and suddenly Varian felt it’s weight against his thigh. 

_ I can help you reverse-engineer it, _ Andrew had said, his voice echoing like a specter in Varian’s ear. What did he mean? How did one reverse a spell when the only mention of it in Xavier’s book was how to prevent it in the first place? Didn’t that mean it couldn’t be undone by anyone but the caster?

A sudden groan beside him made Varian jolt. Eugene removed his arm from around his shoulders and grabbed at his temples, leaning forward as though a piercing headache were making him curl with pain. 

“Kid,” the man rasped, “you gotta go. I’m sorry, but I--  _ augh,” _ he groaned, wincing again.

Varian climbed onto unsteady legs and stepped back. “Eugene,” he breathed, pleading as though somehow he could talk Eugene out of being cursed. 

“I can’t promise I won’t flip,” Eugene managed, his voice tight. “I can’t fight off the curse completely. You have to go.”

“I can’t just leave you here,” Varian argued, but he didn’t sound confident to his own ears, and he took another step back. 

“I’ll find Rapunzel,” the man said, waving him off. He lifted his chin, giving Varian a strained but encouraging smirk. “It’ll be okay, Varian. If anyone can figure this out, it’s you.”

Something wavered in Varian’s breathing, and for a moment, he thought he might cry. This wasn’t fair--Varian was  _ so tired _ of things not being fair. But Eugene was right about the curse, and right about Varian needing to get to safety. So the alchemist took another uneven breath and reached for the foci, pulling it from his pocket and into view. 

The vial was glowing that same soft red. Inside, a smear of dried blood crusted to the glass.

Suddenly, an idea came to him that lowered his shoulders and quieted his mind. Could it be so simple? Was that what Andrew had been talking about? If the idea was right… then Varian had all that he needed for it. He just needed space to do it.

“I’ll fix this,” he said, looking up from the foci to Eugene’s glowing eyes. Beyond the balcony behind him, the last of the sun was dipping below the horizon, the sky awash in golds and reds. Somewhere, unseen below, what remained of Andrew was no longer a threat.

Varian tightened his hand around the foci, and set his jaw. “I’ll fix it,” he repeated, more confidently this time. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=U-SWoK6RSqeHcD9pDAgMLg
> 
> "Mr. Clay" - Varian and Eugene pull one over on Andrew.  
> "Moral Insanity" - Andrew hangs from the edge.  
> "Memories of Sherlock" - Varian processes the outcome, and makes a promise.


	25. The Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rapunzel, Cassandra, and Arianna find Xavier. Like always, he has a story to tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glitter!
> 
> Here's an update with some actual exposition in it. You know, exposition? That thing that provides clarity, rather than the bullshit and vagary I usually yeet at you?
> 
> Also: the next update will either be before or on Thanksgiving this week, because this year sucks and I need the endorphins that your comments give me. And also, I am excited to write it. But mostly it's those endorphins, let's be honest.

Cassandra regretted sedating most of the castle.

Not because it hadn’t helped. With everyone in varying states of sleep, they’d been able to move about almost as if there were no curse at all, and certainly it made things safer for Varian. But now it was undeniably a burden, and Cassandra was growing tired of things being difficult and slow-moving. 

Rapunzel was right, of course; they had to find Xavier. Wherever Varian was, he was clearly not with Nigel, and so he was perhaps better left to the shadows. The most efficient use of their time now was to find a way to break the curse, and if anyone would know where to start, it was Xavier. 

The problem was that Xavier had not been seen for some time. Apparently the last time either Rapunzel or Arianna remembered seeing him was during an emergency meeting just over two days ago. In all the chaos that had followed, his absence hadn’t been the center of concern. Now it stood out as markedly odd, and frankly concerning.

So their best bet to find him was to ask around, a task that was made laughably difficult when just about everyone in the castle was unconscious. They’d tried to rouse sleeping guards, tried to communicate with zombified handmaidens, but no one had the awareness to answer, even if they  _ did _ know the blacksmith’s whereabouts. 

“You’re certain he wasn’t at the forge,” Arianna asked for possibly the fifth time, glancing at Cassandra as though this time, maybe, the answer would be different.

“No,” the warrior sighed. “There was no sign of him. The forges were cold, like he hadn’t been there for a while.”

The queen took a deep breath and nodded, her wary eyes turning back down the corridor. All along the walls, people were huddled together, deep in sleep. It was something out of a fairytale, and Cassandra had never been particularly fond of those.

Beneath their concern was a shred of panic. Was Xavier somehow in on this? Nigel hadn’t behaved like he was relying on a partner, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t. Did it even make sense for Xavier to turn on Corona? To turn on Varian, whom he had bonded with quite closely over the last few years? 

It seemed unthinkable, but so did most of what was going on around them. So did seventy feet of magical hair, or an ancient demon returning for vengeance, or her own mother being the kingdom’s most notorious villain. 

Cassandra turned her eyes away from the sleeping faces of the castle staff and instead looked toward a quiet hallway to their left. They’d been wandering aimlessly, and all this time, Varian could be in danger. They couldn’t afford to waste precious minutes shaking the shoulders of every cook and butler they happened upon, or wallowing in the discomfort of the past.

“We haven’t tried down there yet,” Cassandra offered. “It’s where we entered the castle--not as much foot traffic. Maybe the sedative didn’t reach far down that way.”

“Good idea,” Rapunzel said immediately, relieved at having some direction. Ruddiger, who had been scurrying ahead of the party to try and find someone who was awake, perked up and leapt over a sleeping baker to get back to them quickly. He curled between Rapunzel’s ankles when he reached them, but she didn’t reach to pet him. Her usual chipper demeanor was absent, stress and anger weighing on her. 

Both mother and daughter had remained unnervingly quiet about the reveal of the traitor since they’d set out to find Xavier. As they moved into the smaller hallway, Cassandra could feel their anger as though it were generating a warmth all its own. Their silence on the matter betrayed the hurt they must have been feeling, but it did not slow them even for an instant. There was something vengeful in the set of both of their shoulders, and it was infectious. 

Rounding another corner, they came upon the dark hallway where Cassandra had parted ways with Varian and Eugene. In the rapidly fading daylight, it was ominous and vacant, free of all the sleeping bodies that the main corridors had.

Free, except for one person lying face-down in the middle of the floor.

“Stan,” Rapunzel sighed, the faintest hint of worry seeping through. She crouched beside him and rolled him onto his side with little difficulty. Apparently she’d retained much of her strength even without all of that hair to carry. 

The guard in question snuffled and snorted, startling to some version of wakefulness without any further prompting. He rolled awkwardly onto his back, looking up at the trio who’d discovered him with a drowsy raise of an eyebrow. “Pr’ncess,” he mumbled, before his mouth widened in a yawn. 

“Stan,” Rapunzel tried, more pointedly now that he had stirred. “Can you wake up for me?”

The guard hummed and scratched idly at the armor plating over his stomach before realizing that it was in the way. He frowned, seemingly unaware that he was asleep in the middle of a hallway, and moved to sit up.

“Where’zat,” he muttered, blinking at his surroundings before finally registering who he was in the company of. With the grace of a champion drunk, Stan startled and tried to climb to his feet and salute at the same time, toppling himself onto his back in the process.

Arianna stifled a small laugh behind her hand. Rapunzel touched her brow in a moment of patience. Ruddiger, unsure what was wrong with the man, gave him a cautious sniff. Cassandra groaned. 

“We’re looking for Xavier,” the warrior said firmly, planting her hands on her hips and leaning over the man. “Do you know where we can find him?”

Stan, still lying on his back, smacked his hand to his forehead in a vague approximation of a salute. His eyes glowed noticeably in the dark hallway. “He’s-- he’s in the, uh, the dungeons, as you ordered, your majesties!”

All three women blinked in surprise. It was not the answer they expected. In truth, Cassandra didn’t expect any answer at all.

“What? What does that mean,” Rapunzel pressed, leaning in. 

“He’wuzza… ‘Sin league with Varian, your Highness. You ordered him to be, uh…” He paused to yawn, slowing down his already slurred explanation. It took a great amount of self control for Cassandra not to grab him by the armor and shake it out of him.

“To be in the dungeon,” Stan clarified. “To be locked there for safety. Safe keeping,” he correctly awkwardly.

Arianna took another deep breath. When she spoke, her tone was stern and measured. “And who delivered this order to you?”

“Nigel, ma’am. Your majesty. Madame.”

All three of them took a measured breath and exchanged looks, as if to say  _ of course. _ Ruddiger’s ears flattened in anger.

“You said he’s in the dungeons,” Cassandra clarified. Stan nodded sleepily, his salute slumping and his eyelids drooping. 

Rapunzel stood and rolled her hands in and out of fists. “Then let’s go.”

-

Unfortunately, Rapunzel was quite familiar with the dungeons. 

Ever since she had moved into a firm leadership role in the kingdom, she had tried to establish more humane conditions in the prison. This was in no small part because it was difficult to imagine Varian down there, shivering in the cold and half starved for nearly a year. It wouldn’t take much; seal up cracks, provide more blankets, improve the quality of the food. Books and art were both things she had proposed, as well. After all, she knew exactly what it felt like to be trapped in a small space for years on end. The only thing that had kept her sane was her creativity. 

And yet, for every mention of the dungeon in the many reports she received and sent, progress on improving them was frustratingly slow. Now she wondered if her requests for change had been held up by Nigel himself.

The thought brought a flash of anger into her chest, hot and bright and unproductive. She wanted to shake it off, but how could she? The royal advisor had always resisted Rapunzel’s suggestions and decisions, but she’d always assumed that was his job. What was an advisor if not someone who could offer an alternative point of view? Wasn’t it for the benefit of all if a ruler could remain as objective and fair as possible?

He had called her naive, and maybe she was. But if that put her at odds with the kind of man Nigel clearly was, then she was fine with that. 

Behind her, she could hear her mother and Cassandra following in her wake. This was not the first time Rapunzel had stormed into the dungeons, and with her track record, it would not be the last. The only thing that gave her pause, that pulled her focus away from the singular goal of finding Xavier, was that Ruddiger looked resolutely nervous and uncomfortable, and had since they’d stepped off the bottom of the stairs. 

He’d been down here with Varian, hadn’t he? Rapunzel shuddered to think of all he’d witnessed. What little comfort could a raccoon provide to a child in prison? Even if Varian had been in the wrong, even if he had put her and her family in danger, he was still just a kid. A kid who had lost everything, who had been left completely alone in the world, and who didn’t know how to mourn. 

Guilt merged with Rapunzel’s anger, muddying the waters and pulling her focus away from the task at hand. She couldn’t change the past, but she could help Varian  _ now. _ And heaven help anyone who stood in her way.

“There,” Arianna said suddenly, pointing down a side corridor. It was dark except for a single torch affixed to the wall, some dozen yards down. A hallway empty of prisoners except for where light was provided for one. And what other reason could there be for isolating a prisoner like that unless it was to hide them away?

“Xavier,” Rapunzel called, her voice carrying down the stone corridor ahead of her. She started forward, resisting the urge to run so that she could hear him if he responded. 

For a moment, there was silence. Rapunzel passed several empty cells and was beginning to wonder if they were mistaken, when the sound of a cot creaking echoed back to her.

“Your Majesty,” an old voice croaked, unmistakably that of Xavier. The instant she heard it, Rapunzel broke into a jog to close the distance between them as fast as possible.

Sure enough, the blacksmith came into view as Rapunzel rounded on the cell. Cassandra was quick on her heels, followed by her mother, who gasped a soft “Oh, no,” at the sight of the old man.

Xavier looked cold, and exhausted, and quietly furious about his present situation. But even with the shadows beneath his eyes, and the blue tint to his lips, that unmistakable dignity still surrounded him. “Queen Arianna, Princess Rapunzel,” he greeted with obvious relief. “Are you both alright?”

“Are  _ we _ alright,” Rapunzel replied, “Xavier, you’re bleeding!”

She gestured at the welt on his forehead, where a smudge of dried blood caught the light of the torch. Behind her, Cassandra had already turned back down the hallway to grab a set of master keys from the guard station. 

“It is nothing,” the blacksmith dismissed. “I have known much worse, in my youth. If you are here, does that mean you know of Nigel’s betrayal?”

Rapunzel grimaced, a momentary flair of anger returning to her. She had no reason to doubt what she knew, but somehow having Xavier confirm it all over again made it worse. Perhaps some small part of her still hoped this was all a terrible dream. “Unfortunately, yes. We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Here,” her mother interrupted softly. Rapunzel had not noticed her step away, but she appeared suddenly holding a scratchy blanket from a few cells down. Xavier took it through the bars gratefully, pulling it around his shoulders without hesitation. His thanks was drowned out by the sound of Cassandra’s rapidly returning footsteps. 

“Varian,” Xavier asked before Rapunzel could question him further “Is he alright?”

At the sound of his name, Ruddiger pressed his face in between the bars while Cassandra worked to unlock the door, and squirmed until he popped through. With visible soreness, the old man reached a hand down and allowed the raccoon to climb up his arm and comfort him with a curl around his neck.

The sight of it only made Varian’s uncertain fate more unbearable. When doubt and fear overshadowed Rapunzel’s expression, and an answer was not immediately forthcoming, her mother’s hand settled on her shoulder. “We aren’t sure,” the queen answered in her place. “The last I saw him, he escaped from Nigel’s men, but it’s been some time.”

Xavier’s face grew grim. He turned and watched as Cassandra dragged the heavy barred door open, not looking even the least bit surprised to see her. “Does he still have the book?”

“Yes,” Arianna answered immediately. 

Xavier’s shoulders relaxed, some invisible weight leaving them. “Good,” he nodded. “He’s going to need it.”

With the bars to the cell open, Rapunzel led Xavier out by the arm, guiding his numb and tired legs along with a steady hand. Ruddiger’s small hands reached down to secure the blanket firmly around his neck, tail curling around his chin to try and keep him warm. With as much haste as they could muster, the small group turned down the hallway and headed back the way they’d come. 

“Xavier,” Rapunzel implored as they walked, “why did Nigel lock you up down here? Why aren’t you cursed?”

She could feel Cassandra come up along Xavier’s other side, pulling his arm over her shoulders. As though he were looking for a moment to collect himself, the old man turned a tired smile toward the warrior.

“I’m glad to see you back, young Cassandra. The kingdom needs you right now, perhaps more than ever.”

He said it with a soft voice, sincere and kind as always. Cassandra turned her eyes down and away, hiding her face behind her bangs. Mercifully, Xavier did not linger in the moment, and instead turned back to the princess to answer her question. 

“I suppose for once, I will have to cut a long tale short,” he said, earning a small smile from Rapunzel. She was grateful for his humor, as subtle as it was, and she glanced at her mother only for a moment before allowing him to continue. Whatever he had to tell them, Rapunzel felt her anticipation reach a boiling point. She’d been searching for answers for days, tirelessly trying to resolve this disaster. Now, finally, she might learn of a solution.

Xavier winced as his aching knees wobbled beneath him, but with the support of the two women, he pushed through and began to speak. “I suspected something was wrong when I first received the order to forge armaments in secret. Though it had the seal of the king, I knew it was not in his nature to do such a thing. I began to pay closer attention in council meetings, watchful for a sign that something was afoot.”

They arrived, finally, at the guard station. Though it was only a simple wooden desk, it provided them an opportunity to guide Xavier into the desk chair. He groaned thinly on the way down, weak and exhausted from his stay in that cell. Once he was settled, he took a deep breath and continued, voice strained from fatigue. “You must forgive me, your Majesties. I began to notice odd behaviors from Nigel even then, but could not understand why they seemed strange. It was only an instinct, and not supported by evidence. I should have shared my concerns. I regret that now.”

“No, Xavier,” Arianna said, laying a hand on his shoulder and leaning to catch his eye.  _ “None _ of us saw this coming. You cannot blame yourself.”

The old man offered her a withered smile. “Thank you, your Highness. But while I did not feel it wise to alert anyone of my suspicions at the time, I did determine that precautions should be made. I had intended to prepare a number of failsafes, but… I only managed to secure one.”

Beside him, Rapunzel lowered herself onto a footstool, hanging on every word. “What do you mean?”

“The book,” the man answered softly. “That I gave to Varian. I told him it was a belated birthday gift, but in truth, I was trying to prepare for any eventuality, should my suspicions prove correct. He is the only one I trust to use that book for good.”

Rapunzel frowned, her nose scrunching lightly. “This is the same book you spoke about in that emergency meeting a few days ago? The one that might have the key to breaking this curse?”

“The very one,” Xavier nodded. “At the time, I had no idea how crucial the book was, or how fortuitous the choice to give it to Varian would be. The curse erupted that very day, taking with it the king and many of the royal guard, and confirming my worst fears. And yet, I still had no proof that Nigel was the culprit. I only had reason to fully suspect him once the castle gates were locked, and that large bank of cursed smoke appeared.”

“So you confronted him,” Cassandra finished, her voice stony with understanding, “and he threw you in the dungeons.”

Xavier shook his head once, briefly. With a slow breath, he lifted a few fingers to give Ruddiger a little scratch on the head, prompting the raccoon to snuggle closer. “I did not have to. When he learned that Varian might be armed with a way to defeat him, Nigel confronted  _ me. _ He tried to convince me that the book, in Varian’s hands, would be disastrous. That we needed it back in the castle at once in order to defeat the curse ourselves.”

He sighed, then, and looked toward Rapunzel. “When you first visited me for help, Princess, I recognized what you were describing as one of the curses mentioned in that small book. I tried for days to remember what the curse required, in the hopes that I could learn how to break it. Instead, I discovered a simple trick to achieving temporary immunity. A rare flower from Neserdnia, that when dried and pressed, and dissolved on the tongue, spares someone from being afflicted by the curse.”

“A magic flower,” Cassandra deadpanned. “You’re kidding.”

At this, the old man offered her a small, wry smile. “I am not. The caster of the curse must place the same flower on their tongue, to prevent being cursed as well. In truth, anyone who does is temporarily immune. I had only a few petals saved, and when Nigel confronted me, I consumed them without a moment to spare. When he found he could not curse me, and change my state of mind by force, he had me locked up down here until the flower’s immunity wore off.”

For a sober moment, the group remained silent. The information was slow to absorb, and neglected to answer just as many questions as it satisfied. Nigel wanted the book, desperately enough to reveal his scheme to Xavier in an attempt at getting it. And according to her own mother, Nigel had been desperate to keep Varian’s hands off the foci, as well.

“Besides the flower,” Rapunzel prompted, “can you remember what the book says about breaking the curse?”

She felt her mother lean forward in anticipation of the answer, and noticed Cassandra draw a deep breath. Ruddiger, even, perked his ears up and lifted his head from Xavier’s shoulder. But when the man met her eye, it was not the conspiratorial look of good news she was hoping for.

“The curse cannot be broken,” Xavier said, in such a simple tone that for a moment, Rapunzel wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. 

There was another pause, this time partnered with the sting of an invisible slap. It was Cassandra who broke it. “You can’t be serious,” she said, her words sharpening by the second. “How can that be true?”

“Surely there’s a way,” Arianna said quietly, desperate and panicked in equal measure. 

But when Xavier answered, he was watching Rapunzel. “The curse cannot be broken,” he repeated. “But it can be recast. If we are to see the other end of this, Varian is now the only one who can save us.”

Rapunzel stared at him, trying to understand what he’d just said. As it dawned on her, a confusing mix of hope and dread filled her stomach like oil and water. On Xavier’s other side, Cassandra lifted her hands as if to say  _ let’s be reasonable, now. _

“You’re telling us,” the warrior said slowly, “that in order for us to beat Nigel… Varian has to do magic?”

Xavier looked up at her from where he sat, and nodded. “Yes.”

“Oh,” Cassandra said, shrugging first at Rapunzel and then Arianna. “Great. We’re doomed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=zYrwdaBsRrSmd6HXZsj1ug
> 
> 1) "Okinawa Battlefield" - The trio get their lead  
> 2) "After the Storm" - Xavier tells his story


	26. Spellbound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varian dabbles in magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Turkey! I hope everyone is staying home, not traveling, and acknowledging that colonialism is baked into every aspect of our lives and it's our responsibility as individuals to understand it and challenge its grim legacy!
> 
> And on that note, here's another chapter to celebrate what will hopefully be a very sleepy and quiet day for everyone. Well... Everyone except Varian. At this rate, he can sleep when he's dead. 
> 
> We're getting toward the end of this story! Which is good, because the google doc I'm writing it in is getting awfully tedious to scroll through. Thank you for sticking with me this long!

Science was a tapestry woven with provable fact, undeniable evidence, and qualitative principles. It was structure, reliable and forever unfolding to reveal greater truths. 

Varian had always loved that about science, had always valued the rules and predictability it provided. There was beauty in math, in provable fact, in repeatable experiments. Once something was proven to be a fundamental truth, it was unchanged by language or location or experience. Facts were facts, and science was absolute. 

Which is exactly why he didn’t give two sideways shits about magic. 

Magic was flexibility and improvisation and whimsey. It was swayed by unquantifiable things, like emotion and memory and will. It followed rules, sure, but those rules could be changed, could be rewritten with the right string of magic words or the right potion brew. 

Science was an expansive set of pre-existing rules, just waiting to be discovered. Magic was chaos, waiting to be nailed down.

It was infuriatingly  _ without _ structure or predictability. If Varian wanted to create a safe pesticide for removing mites from crops, he could either produce a reliable component with alchemy, following the proven scientific method, or he could try magic. And if he tried magic, he was just as likely to turn all the pumpkins pink and make musical mold grow on the vines as he was to kill the mites.

That wasn’t to say that he’d never wondered about the thin line between magic and science. Alchemy often dovetailed it, because a principle of alchemy was to change the base structure of an element into something else, and when science could not accomplish this, sometimes magic could. But it was the difference between a fire in a hearth, controlled and maintained, and a brushfire overtaking a field on a hot summer day, all chaos and unpredictability. 

All this to say that the foci in his hand was an artifact of an inherently inefficient and dangerous system that Varian had learned to detest. And yet there he stood, a man of science, squaring off against unapologetic magic.

Distressingly, it appeared to be one of those “adapt or die” scenarios.

His theory was simple. If Nigel cast a spell that started this entire disaster, then Varian would have to cast a stronger spell to undo it.

Could one spell cancel out the other? Was there a system of magic that allowed for such a thing? The short answer was  _ probably not, _ because there were no real systems of magic. If the rules of magic could be bent and warped, that meant they weren’t rules at all. Varian wasn’t sure if his plan would work, but he was reasonably sure he could force his way through with the right creative thinking.

After all, Andrew’s dying words had been oddly encouraging. He’d seemed to know how to out-maneuver the spell. Whether or not that was a bluff to save himself, Varian didn’t know. But there must have been a reason why Nigel wanted the foci back so badly. After all, if it was indestructible except in Nigel’s own hands, what did it matter if Varian had it? There had to be a failsafe. Even Rapunzel’s magical hair had vulnerabilities. Hell, even Zhan Tiri had been defeated,  _ after _ she’d acquired both the sundrop and moonstone for herself. 

What were the odds that Nigel, of all people, had found the one curse in the book that was unbreakable?

Varian took a seat. He had found a parlor, quiet and forgotten to the rest of the castle, to hole up in. If he survived this whole ordeal, he’d have to find some way to pay Rapunzel back for the floor he’d destroyed.

The young alchemist was seated cross-legged on the ground, at the edge of a wide circle. He had carved it into the wood with Cassandra’s knife, using a string fixed to a central point to ensure that the circle was as near perfect as he could make it. Various symbols and runes were crudely etched around the rim of the circle, and a sort of compass rose sprouted from the middle, pointing at each one.

His handiwork was anything but elegant, and it hardly mattered. Varian studied the pages of Xavier’s book closely, confirming that each symbol was accurate. The diagram in the book had taken precious time to recreate on the floor, and finally, he appeared to be done with it.

“Stupid,” Varian muttered beneath his breath. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

He gathered up the candles he’d found around the room and began to set them around the circle, one at every point of the compass rose. The candle at the center, which had been burning for some time now, had melted enough wax for him to pour it where the book told him, small puddles of white that cooled into hard shells immediately. 

“Golden fog,” he said, placing a lit candle over one rune, so that its halo of light stood out in the dark. “Silver thread,” he continued, placing a small statuette covered in cobwebs on the next rune. “A personal sacrifice,” while placing the used bandages that he’d unraveled from one of his arms, the bloody cloth spooling on the corresponding rune, “and a vial of dread.”

For this ingredient, Varian rolled his eyes. His first instinct had been to use the foci itself, but that felt too on the nose, and defeated the whole purpose of this endeavor. With a groan, Varian pulled his aching body to his feet and crossed over to a large globe near the fireplace. After a minute of searching along its side, he found the latch and popped the top half open.

Inside, a collection of bottles offered up all sorts of drinks that his father would yell at him for even knowing the names of. Varian selected the most throat-burning, hair-curling, stomach-wrenching of the collection, and returned to his circle, placing the alcohol onto the final rune.

Taking his seat once more, Varian scowled at his work thus far. “What’s next,” he asked sarcastically, “a child’s wish? Grandpa’s worst fear?”

No one answered him, which was probably for the best. Varian returned his eyes to the open pages of Xavier’s book, and tried to focus.

The few pages he had become familiar with back in Old Corona had included the recipe for the sedative. It was the part of the spell that had made the most sense to him at the time, and one that he still would prefer to work with. The other few pages--the ones about the actual curse--were filled with the vague language of magic, and Varian was having a hard time reading it without rolling his eyes. 

Create the binding circle, which grants control of the magic that you call upon: check.

Establish a compass, which focuses the magic along straight lines to the foci at the center of the circle: check.

Recreate the right summoning runes, and offer each a physical object that corresponds with the spell in question: check.

Acquire a white edelweiss flower, and press it between the pages of a spell book until dried. The older the better: check, thank you Xavier. (It was next to this step that someone’s blocky hand had noted the flower could only be found in Neserdnia.)

The final part was where it stopped being an instruction manual, and started being proper magic. As near as Varian understood it, he was to place the flower on his tongue while he cast the spell. The flower, in theory, would prevent the curse from afflicting  _ him, _ which felt initially ridiculous until he reasoned that it was just the magical equivalent of wearing safety goggles. 

Once the flower was in place, he had to meditate on the memory he wanted to recreate, and “channel the aura of the memory into the foci with a sacrifice of blood”, which was exactly the kind of non-specific magical bullshit that Varian detested. But if Nigel could do it, then so could he.

Varian closed the spell book after a final review of the pages, setting it on the floor beside him. At the center of the circle, the foci glowed a soft, threatening red. 

He lowered his eyes to the flower, its stem pinched between his fingers. Three petals were missing, plucked and consumed by himself, Eugene, and Cassandra when they’d entered the castle. It was for that reason alone that Eugene had not been overwhelmed by the curse, even if he had not consumed enough to totally spare him. 

Relieved that he still had most of the flower, Varian took a deep breath, and closed his eyes for a moment.

“Okay,” he said quietly, trying to hype himself into focus. “If I didn’t already have a thousand reasons to hate that man, I do now for the fact that I have to use magic to fix his mess. But it’s fine,” he tacked on quickly, as if the magic might be listening. “If it means I can save my friends, then it’s fine.”

For a moment, he sat there silently, waiting until he believed his own words. When he got as close as he could, he began.

Carefully, Varian opened his mouth, and set the pressed flower onto his tongue. Closing his lips around the stem, he took a deep breath and forced his shoulders to relax. At first, he focused only on his breathing. He thought about the dusty bitter taste of the flower, and the ache of his body, and chill of the room, and the dangers that lurked beyond it. For a moment, he just focused on being  _ there. _

In the quiet that followed, Varian found certainty. He wasn’t going to take the bait, or play Nigel’s game. He hadn’t played Andrew’s game, or St Croix’s, or Trevor’s, and he wasn’t going to start now. Nigel wanted him to be the bad guy? Well, too bad. Varian was  _ not _ going to be the bad guy.

And if the way to get passed this nightmare was to go through an older one, then that’s what he would do.

Gradually, his thoughts turned through the events of the previous few days. The Stabbingtons, the wall, the forwarding camp, and everything in between. He remembered the party months prior, when Trevor had first acknowledged Varian, and had brought up the automatons. He thought about the cold shame that had gripped him, the need to run and hide, to tuck into a dark space and never show his face to the world again.

The longer Varian sat there sifting through his memories, the more he started to sense Nigel’s, stuck as they were to the foci before him. The resentment and hatred reached for him like clawed hands, scraping against his own memories, trying to corrupt them. The hate that Nigel had channeled into the foci resisted Varian’s memories, resisted his guilt and shame and regret. 

But Varian had spent his own fair share of time steeped in anger and hate, and he knew exactly how to navigate those waters. The hands of Nigel’s magic scratched and pried, but made it no further than the periphery of Varian’s awareness. 

In his heart, a deep well of sadness opened up. One that he had tried to brick over and forget about since his time in the dungeons, and one he had to wade into now. The shame of what he’d done was still raw, a kind of humiliation he could barely tolerate. By comparison, it made Nigel’s anger feel petty, fleeting. Instinctively, Varian turned his thoughts away, catching himself only when he felt those clawed hands reach just a little bit closer to his heart. 

He had to face it. He realized with sudden clarity that the only way to overpower Nigel’s hate was to fully embrace his own demons. 

Once, Varian had wanted to help. He’d wanted to save his village, and make his father proud. He’d wanted to prove himself to all of them, prove his worth to everyone who had ever doubted it. And he had failed them all, had failed Rapunzel and Eugene, and…

And he’d failed himself. Varian had wanted everyone else to be proud of him, but he’d had no confidence of his own. No wonder his worth had been so fragile, so frequently written off. Not even he had seen it in himself.

Something echoed in his mind. A voice that was not his own, nor did it belong to Nigel’s anger and hate. A warm and steady tone, two olive eyes gazing at him steadily, hands on his shoulders. The queen.

_ The only person who hasn’t forgiven you, is you. _

It was like hearing a chime, a clear crystal tone that quieted all other thought. Was it selfish to believe that? To think that everyone else who mattered had already forgiven him?

But then… he had come to realize that he did not want or need anyone else telling him how to feel. He wanted to trust in his own autonomy, in his own power. And if he really meant that, then shouldn’t he also trust in the autonomy of others? If he wanted others to respect his sense of agency, then didn’t he also need to extend that respect to the people around him?

As a man of science, Varian would say that any theory that could yield results was worth exploring. So, he told himself, for the sake of argument, perhaps Arianna was right. Theoretically, it was possible that Varian needed to let go of his past mistakes, just as it was possible that his friends were telling the truth when they said they’d forgiven him. And if that was true, then the only thing that remained was to make peace with himself, and what he’d done.

He wanted to show them the best in him, but did he even know what that was? Drawing a deep breath in through his nose, Varian decided--for the sake of the theory, of course--that he should identify those variables. Releasing the breath in a long, slow exhale, Varian forced his jaw to unclench and tried to focus.

He was flawed, yes. He had made mistakes, undeniably. But the same desire to help people that existed in him before was still there, alive and well. He wanted people to live easier lives, lives aided by science and alchemy, and he had already made a lot of headway there. He wanted the royal family to know he was grateful, not only for their forgiveness but for their love, and so he always tried to help when he could. He wanted to be the person that Ruddiger thought he was, and he was trying, every day. 

He could not fix what he had done, could not go back in time and erase his mistakes. Perhaps that was what Nigel wanted--to reset the clock, so that he could do things better the second time around. But for all the shame and guilt Varian had over what he’d done, would he really erase the past? After all, as painful as those memories were, he was where he was today because of them.

The thought was startling. Without his regret, would he have helped stop the Saporian uprising? Without his longing for redemption, would he have put his trust in Cassandra when he’d been taken,  _ twice? _ If his desire to make amends wasn’t genuine, would he have gone through all the chaos and danger of the last few days to try to save a castle that wanted him dead?

He’d been so mired in shame that he’d never stopped to consider that he was a stronger person for all he’d been through. And even if the origins of his growth were dark, he stood separate from who he had been, and better for it.

Something swelled into his chest then that he hadn’t anticipated, so overpowering he could feel tears well up: gratitude. Gratitude for his friends, his found family, for the chance to be a better person. Maybe Nigel was right: maybe Varian  _ didn’t _ deserve it. But he’d been given the chance anyway, and for that, he’d had the opportunity to grow beyond his past mistakes. 

Varian opened his eyes. They were glowing a soft blue.

Before him, the foci was humming with magic. The flames on the candles had all taken on a blue tint, and the small vial at the center of the circle was swirling with red and blue light, wisps of magic and emotion that orbited the foci, waiting for one to be fixed to it.

He’d barely noticed the tears on his cheek while he’d been focusing on the spell. Now he lifted his still-bandaged arm and wiped them away, sniffling. He felt warmer and more whole than he had in a long time, a fragile certainty nested within him. In truth, Varian had not been confident that this would work, yet here he sat, overcome by emotion and surrounded by the thrum of magic.

The only thing left to do was to affix the spell to the foci with blood. 

With trembling hands, Varian reached for Cassandra’s knife. Just a small amount should do, based on the size of the stain Nigel’s blood had left behind. 

A clatter outside the room made him jolt. Varian pivoted where he was seated, drawing in a sharp breath. It was the last clear thing he was aware of.

The door to the parlor burst open, the frame around the lock splintering. Guards filled the threshold, their eyes glowing a sharp red. 

“There he is,” one of them shouted. Varian jolted, stumbling back onto the spell circle and knocking over two candles and the statuette covered in cobwebs. He only had time to draw one hand up in self defense before a boot connected with his chest, flinging him down onto the ground with a rough thud. The bottle of alcohol and another candle fell over, rattling away across the wood. 

“He’s preforming dark magic,” another guard declared, “just as Nigel said! Don’t let him finish the spell!”

“No,” Varian burst, struggling to dislodge the boot from his chest, “please, listen! Don’t do this, I can--”

The point of a halberd flashed in the remaining candle light, looming above him in once instant and plunging down in the next. Varian’s shoulder lit up with pain, the blade sinking in just below his collarbone. With half a breath, he grunted out a shout, before a howl of pain erupted from him, and he was momentarily blind to what was going on around him.

“It’s the artifact Nigel described,” one of the men said, “careful!”

Varian managed to crack one eye open in time to see a gloved hand lift the foci from his view. It was still swirling with blue and red. 

“Stop,” he gagged, horror twisting deep inside him, “p-please!  _ Please _ stop!”

His hands gripped the pole of the halberd, desperately trying to pull it from his flesh, but the guard holding it only scowled down at him and held it in place. 

This couldn’t be happening. He’d been so close, only a breath away from finishing the spell, from turning the tide on this whole affair. How could it be wrenched from him so violently in the final moment? 

“Get him up,” a gruff voice ordered. “He’s to go right to the throne room.”

“Please,” Varian gasped, looking with open horror up at the red eyes above him. His pleading fell on deaf ears.

“And gag him,” the same guard ordered. “We don’t want the wizard completing his curse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03?si=-27yfB8rQ8qFiKP1rlH7Ew
> 
> 1) "Prelude to a Plan" - The alchemist embraces his inner wizard, albeit begrudgingly.  
> 2) "New Queen" - Varian has an epiphany.  
> 3) "Pendleton Jump" - As is the running theme of this story, everything goes sideways.


	27. Down The Barrel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel does some monologuing. Varian is done being the victim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be 2.5k long and end with one of my classic Infuriating Cliffhangers©, but I think we're all pretty tired of that move, so I doubled it in length. It still ends with an Infuriating Cliffhanger©, but hopefully this one is more deserved. And if not... I don't know what you expect, at this point.

How had things come to this?

It seemed that all of Varian’s plans ended in ruins, an unshakable entropy made all the more obvious over the last few days. No matter how close he came to success, the floor always fell out from underneath him in the final moment. In fact, if the stakes weren’t so high, he’d have found it funny in the same cruel way that most ironies usually were.

As it stood, it was almost enough to take the fight out of him. How many times could a single person fail before they accepted that they were not destined to succeed?

Another pulse of pain in his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts, a sharp breath sucking in through his teeth. With such a fresh stab wound, being dragged by either arm at a brisk pace felt like the gash was ripping, and it was all he could do to not cry out in agony. They had been leading him through twisting hallways, passing sleeping piles of people cast into darkness without anyone awake to keep the sconces and braziers lit. 

Just as Varian was wondering if they were taking the long way, compelled by the curse to draw out his suffering, the doors of the throne room appeared at the end of the hallway. They were closed tight, tall and imposing, and for the first time, Varian dragged his feet into the carpet.

He didn’t need to know what was beyond that door to know he didn’t want to go in there.

“Move,  _ wizard,” _ one of the guards grunted, yanking on his arm and ripping a pained whine from the young man. They all but hoisted him up, his feet momentarily leaving the floor so that all of his weight hung from his shoulders. The stab wound lit up with white hot agony, and Varian gagged from pain, twisting in some instinctive attempt at getting away from the assault.

It must have momentarily blinded him, because the next thing he knew, the doors to the throne room were groaning open, and he was being hauled inside. He could only barely register the sheer number of faces that turned toward him, each and every one blurred by the glow of red eyes.

Immediately, the crowd began to stir. Threats of violence, cruel names, even some voices encouraging the guards holding Varian upright to ‘stop going easy on him’. Varian saw fists shaking and elbows jostling to try and get a better look. 

The gathered redeyes parted for the guards, but not without several hands grabbing at Varian’s clothing. A fist caught him on the back of the head, knuckles clipping him hard enough to throw his head forward. The guards did nothing to prevent it. 

In the center of the throne room, the crowd had parted to reveal a large opening before the throne. They stood in a wide circle, an impenetrable wall of hatred that Varian had no hope of getting through, even if he  _ could _ get away from the guards. Through eyes watering from pain, he began to realize just how dire his circumstances were. Cold, icy dread began to frost up the insides of his stomach. 

There was no getting out of this one.

Before him, the throne stood in the unusually cold light of the nearby braziers. The flames had a whiteness to them that would have seemed unnatural, if Varian didn’t know exactly why they were white. After all, the braziers in the throne room were fueled by a newer iteration of Quirinium, which he had designed to burn eternally.

Rapunzel had wanted a symbol of the enduring spirit of Corona. It seemed especially cruel that that same symbol now lit a room full of violence and hate. And at the head of it all, seated in the throne as though he belonged there, was Nigel.

When Varian’s gaze finally settled on him, the man was examining the foci, held at an arm’s length as though the advisor didn’t quite trust it anymore. The vial was being orbited by small wisps of blue light, twisting like overenthusiastic fireflies around the glass. The body of the foci, however, remained red. 

When the guards finally stopped at the center of the circle, Nigel turned his gaze down the length of his nose to Varian. He had changed from his usual red coat to one tailored in all black, with fine golden thread embroidered throughout. It was a show of wealth and newly-acquired authority, blatant and unmistakable. The man’s eyes were still bloodshot from the flash grenade, giving him a crazed look that sent a bolt of fear down Varian’s spine. 

Nigel closed his fist around the foci, and all of the angry voices and slurs and shouts fell to silence. The cursed crowd stood in obedient attention, glaring at the young alchemist at the center of their gathering. 

“Good work, men,” Nigel said, his low voice carrying through the hushed room. “At last, we can have justice.”

He stood from the throne, languid and comfortable, and tucked his hands behind his back as he started down the steps at a stroll. Varian struggled to stay silent, his shoulder screaming for relief, his every instinct telling him to run. Gradually, the advisor drew closer, his hawk-like eyes never once leaving Varian’s face. No one else in the room moved, least of all the guards. The only sound in the throne room besides the click of Nigel’s heels was Varian’s ragged, uneven breathing.

“Do you know,” Nigel began quietly, his words slow and deliberate, “how to rid a house of rats?”

Varian, in pain and shaking from adrenaline and fear, said nothing.

“You could get a cat to hunt them down,” the advisor continued, “but the rats work together, and learn to out-maneuver the cat.”

Nigel stopped in front of Varian and gazed down at him with open disdain. “You could set traps, of course, but the rats are very clever. The traps only work once, and then they learn how to recognize them.”

His eyes dropped to the bleeding wound on Varian’s shoulder, and a small, cruel smile curled the corner of the man’s mouth. “No, to rid the house of all the rats, you must be patient. You leave out cheese and honey, until they develop a taste for it. Until it is all they want to eat. And then, just as they think how  _ lucky _ they are--once their instincts for scavenging have been softened--you poison the honey. But this poison does not kill them, oh no. It makes them more  _ aggressive. _ And then you put out less and less honey and cheese, and watch them turn on one another.”

With perfect posture, Nigel leaned forward and leveled his bloodshot eyes directly at Varian. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. “And suddenly, no more rats.”

“You can’t do this,” Varian rasped, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “You can’t reset the past.”

“Oh, but I already have” Nigel stood upright, his nostrils flaring with haughty anger. “There are only a few loose ends to tie up here, and then the rest of the kingdom will follow. I have sat by for  _ far _ too long watching the infrastructure of Corona wither and decay.”

He began to pace, circling Varian and the guards that held him up. “A king who will not listen to reason, a queen with a soft head and a softer heart, and a  _ child _ running around making a mockery of the entire sovereignty! I’d have thought that her return alone would be the undoing of this kingdom, but then  _ you _ crawled out of obscurity, didn’t you?”

The venom in his voice was scalding. He completed a full circle around Varian and stopped again, his shoulders visibly hunched with anger. “The princess, I could have reigned in with time. But the real collapse of the royal family began with  _ you. _ Frederic’s weakness for listening to his daughter, the queen’s dangerous sympathies, and  _ Rapunzel, _ allowing you anywhere near the capital after all you’ve done!”

Suddenly, Nigel’s long fingers snared Varian’s chin, forcing his head back and his gaze up. Varian bit back a whimper, the motion jarring his shoulder. Uncaring, the advisor leaned in, his nose only inches from Varian’s.

“But you’ve proven to be quite the little rat, haven’t you? Clever and filthy, and how you’ve made your home within these walls! But I know how to get rid of rats.”

“The only rat in this room is you,” Varian shot back, anger flickering over the ice in his gut. Not for himself, but for Rapunzel. For the queen, who had given him more than just a second chance. And here was this traitor, blind to the irony of his accusations.

And maybe Varian was surrounded, and outnumbered, and unarmed. Maybe he was sporting a whole collection of fresh, debilitating injuries. But if this was how he was going to die, he wasn’t going to do it cowering in front of the likes of Nigel. After all, the bastard in front of him had driven Varian to do  _ magic.  _ No, the man had done enough damage. Varian would not cede any more ground.

“You think you’re going to set Corona on the path to success by aligning with Equis and the Saporians?” Varian tugged his uninjured arm, unable to break away from the guards but needing to remind Nigel that he was still capable of resisting. “You think you can save Corona by making a deal with the very people that want to destroy it?”

Nigel released his chin roughly, pushing his face to the side. “You accuse me of being a traitor,” the man snarled, “and here I thought you were a smart little boy! I had no intention of aligning with either entity. The only way King Trevor could succeed in an assault on Corona would be with your automatons, and I had no intention of letting you live long enough to fall into their hands. As for the Saporians, they have no numbers or resources of their own. Without Equis, they will simply flounder and fail.”

Varian glared up at the man, his expression and tone both tight with pain as a realization came to him. “That’s why you ordered Xaxier to make all those weapons,” he said quietly.

Nigel turned his nose up and sniffed, which was all the confirmation Varian needed. “If Trevor got any ideas,” he sneered, “the armaments were ready for a counter attack. The king of Equis is a fool, blinded by hubris. It would be easy to beat him back to his borders if it came to it, I made sure of that.”

Nigel took two steps back, holding his arms out to gesture at the gathered crowd of red eyes. “You see, without me, this kingdom is nothing. When the princess was thought dead and gone, the king and queen understood this. They  _ listened _ to my guidance, to my plans!”

Varian was struck by a sense of incredulity. The royal family wasn’t perfect, but for Nigel to be so deluded wasn’t just insulting to the king and queen, it was insulting to the entire network of people that made the kingdom run. “You manipulated them in a time of grief and ruled vicariously through them,” the alchemist corrected sharply. “You’re not loyal to this kingdom, you’re a power-hungry egotist with an inflated sense of importance!”

Nigel struck him, more of a slap than a backhand, and Varian wasn’t at all surprised. The only thing that gave him pause was the thought that at least this time, it was his non-bruised cheek that had been struck. Finally.

The royal advisor’s face flushed with indignation. “How dare you--”

“And stop acting like this plan was anything  _ near _ air-tight,” Varian interrupted, his anger getting the better of him. “Eugene and I went to Equis’s forward camp, and it ended with us setting it on fire and learning about  _ you. _ You’re not in control, Nigel; this plan is barely holding together, and  _ you won’t win.” _

Whatever reaction he was expecting, Varian had at least pictured it being more violent. But instead of Nigel hitting him again, or the guards giving him a painful shake, Nigel’s expression darkened with a haunting grin. He hummed, a curious note that was entirely too amused for Varian’s taste, and leaned back. His expression, twisted with anger only seconds before, twisted back to one of control.

“Perhaps you’re right,” the man said in a simple tone, deceptively calm for the glee in his eyes. “Perhaps I  _ will _ fail. But before then, I will see justice delivered.”

He lifted a hand, and snapped his fingers. A set of double doors on the far end of the throne room opened, but Varian could not see what was going on through the crowd. “I was going to have you hanged,” Nigel admitted, tucking his hands behind his back once more and walking back to the throne, the foci tight in his grasp. “But seeing as you keep slipping away, I cannot afford such patience. And, as you say, it would seem I have to be more flexible with my plans.”

To Varian’s left, people shuffled aside to make way. Advancing from the adjoining room, drawn sword in hand, was Frederic.

“What more fitting justice,” Nigel said, raising his voice for all to hear, “that our noble king should dispatch the wretched traitor who nearly took the life of the queen!”

The hold on Varian’s arms suddenly vanished. Unsupported, he nearly fell to his knees, but managed to stay on his feet with an awkward stumble. Immediately, he curled his bad arm close and pressed a hand to his shoulder, his wide eyes fixed on Frederic as the man approached slowly. The circle of people closed behind him, sealing Varian in. 

“This court finds you guilty of the crime of high treason,” Nigel announced. “Your punishment is death, to be carried out immediately.”

Frederic loomed before him, as broad and tall as he was angry. His eyes glowed a bright, brilliant red. Varian’s mind stuttered to a halt, uselessly silent as shock passed through him.

“Varian,” the king snarled, hefting his sword to the ready. He looked as furious as he had in the library when this whole nightmare had begun, and Varian took a step back, momentarily stupefied by the threat of impending doom.

And then something stilled him. Only minutes before, he had elected not to play Nigel’s game, not to cede any more ground. Because of this man’s schemes, Varian had been cut, bruised, kidnapped a  _ humiliating _ number of times, had been forced to hide in a gin barrel so fresh he nearly got contact drunk, and now his intended execution was being put on display for a weasel of a man who thought the solution to his bruised ego was a  _ magic curse. _

“You know what,” Varian said quietly, forcing himself to breathe deeply as he slowly paced away from Frederic to stay out of his range. “I’m not actually interested in this.”

On the throne, Nigel was grinning with a sadistic glee that not even Andrew had matched. He had either not heard Varian speak, or did not care. The advisor leaned back in his chair and lifted the foci up as though he were making a toast. “You may begin,” he instructed, sounding for all the world like he was in complete control.

Varian’s eyes darted around the room, considering and discarding possibilities at a rapid fire pace. He had no alchemical bombs, no tools, no knife. He was completely unarmed except for his wit, and swords were rarely forgiving. He only had one chance. He had to collect data, and make a plan.

First piece of data: Frederic collected eggs. He was a man with an extensive library and an interest in horticulture. He was not a swordsman; Varian had squared off against a whole slew of people with more skill over the last few days.

The king moved right on cue, hefting his sword and swinging broadly at Varian. The alchemist dodged, ducking down underneath the wide sweep of the blade. He darted a few paces to the right, but Frederic was still in the follow-through of his swing, having not yet corrected the missed blow.

Second piece of data: Frederic was driven to fury by the curse. Varian knew all too well that anger clouded everything and made it difficult to act with precision; he would be easy to dodge.

The king snarled and turned, his non-decorative sword an unfamiliar weight in his hands. He threw his cloak back out of his way and readjusted his grip on the pommel of his sword. For the first time, Varian realized that the king’s eyes were unfocused, even through the curse.

Third piece of data: Frederic had recently taken a solid blow to the head, courtesy of Queen Arianna.

So Varian was a small, injured teenager, squaring off against a concussed, enraged bookworm who was not practiced in the art of swordplay. And Nigel was sitting on the throne, acting like this was going to be entertaining?

It was insulting, is what it was. After everything Varian had survived over the last few days, Frederic suddenly didn’t seem so intimidating. Varian just had to dodge him long enough to come up with a plan.

The king swung again, missed again, and the crowd began to grow restless, calling for blood, booing Varian as he dodged yet another swing. He was one-handed, his entire right arm made useless with the stab wound in his shoulder, and he was still managing to outmaneuver their king. He wouldn’t have much more time until the cursed crowd moved in. 

He had to act first, and he had to act fast. Varian clocked a sheathed sword on a guard’s hip, the brazier full of refined Quirinium, and the foci in Nigel’s hand. He had one stab wound, one plan, and one shot. And he’d come this far, after all.

In for a penny, in for a pound. 

“You know what,” he called, loud enough for everyone to hear as he dodged yet another wide swing from Frederic’s sword. “I’ve had a really shitty week, and I’m suddenly not feeling very welcome here.”

“Silence, wizard,” a woman shouted from somewhere in the crowd. She was supported by a few more agreeable voices, and Varian made his plan.

“Oh yeah?” he shouted, trying to channel Eugene’s sense of showmanship. “You want me to be a wizard? Fine. Now I’m a wizard.”

When Frederic swung again, Varian dove, tumbling across the ground in spite of his bad shoulder. He sprang to his feet, moving at speed toward the crowd. Startled, they took a collective step back, but not before Varian’s good shoulder rammed into the chest plate of the nearest guard.

While the man’s weight was thrown back, Varian grabbed the pommel of the man’s sword, and pulled it free with a loud ring of metal against metal. People gasped, backing up further as soon as Varian had the sword in his hands, but he only had a moment to revel in his success before Frederic charged at him. 

This time, Varian’s dodge was carefully chosen. Frederic barreled past him, yelling in frustration as his momentum brought him directly into the side of the brazier’s shoulder-height column. The whole thing rocked dangerously for a moment before keeling over and slamming onto the floor. 

People scattered out of the way as white sparks exploded outward in all directions, but Varian ran forward. Even without any protective equipment, even without his favorite gloves, Varian was no stranger to heat and burns. He could put up with it the same way he could put up with his shoulder, adrenaline dulling the pain and instinct pushing him to survive. As the crowd stumbled away from the fire, Varian slid to a stop beside it and drove the sword directly into the blaze.

Quirinium was a volatile liquid, and one that kept fire blazing for many long days. It was also viscous, able to cling to surfaces like a slime. Varian pulled the sword out of the fire after only a few seconds, and found exactly what he expected: the entire blade was wreathed in flames. 

This was the fourth piece of data: Varian only invented Quirinium after he’d spent time in prison for his crimes. None of the redeyes knew it existed, let alone that it was scientifically possible. They wanted a wizard? Varian could give them a wizard.

“Fire magic,” Varian bellowed, not even caring if that was a real arcane classification. He swept the sword around, waving it toward the crowd to chase them back further. Even Frederic had stopped his assault, no longer certain if he should approach. 

Varian’s shoulder was splitting with pain, but he held the sword with both hands and kept it leveled at the crowd. “I can turn this curse on any of you! The very air you breathe could be used to set your lungs on fire!”

Gasps and cries of panic began to echo around the room. On the throne, Nigel stood up, no longer entertained by what he was seeing. “You idiots,” he shouted, “disarm him at once!”

But the guards were hesitating, as was everyone else. Varian stood in the middle of the room, armed with a flaming sword and rapidly approaching adrenal fatigue, and tried to steady his breathing. 

“Don’t believe me?” Varian called back. “I cast a spell on this castle to put everyone to sleep! How else would I have accomplished that, if not for magic?”

Fact number five: the boilers below the castle didn’t exist back then either. He’d have to take some small consolation in the fact that the real hero here was science.

This seemed to cow the crowd even further, and Varian saw his chance. Before he could lose the nerve, he turned toward the dais and leveled the sword at Nigel. The people that stood between them scattered out of the way, afraid that if the sword so much as pointed at them, their lungs might ignite as Varian had threatened. 

Suddenly, the only things in the room that mattered were Varian, Nigel, and the flaming sword between them.

The alchemist took a deep breath, and charged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03
> 
> 1) "This Is My Curse - Shadows, Pt. 1" - Varian is brought to the throne room; Nigel pontificates about rats.  
> 2) "Call His Wrath" - Frederic appears; Varian is sentenced to death.  
> 3) "Sacrifice" - Varian the wizard.


	28. Thus Always To Tyrants, Pt I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eugene is reunited with Rapunzel and the gang. In the throne room, Varian turns the tide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays! I made a playlist for this fic (with actual songs, not filmscore): https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6swek9uxiFx00mw4jjRYnV
> 
> Here's hoping that I can get the second part up before Christmas?? Wouldn't that be something.

These people couldn’t protect  _ anything. _ They couldn’t protect their infant daughter from a witch, they couldn’t protect her crown from a thief, and they couldn’t protect their queen from a  _ child, _ for heaven’s sake. As soon as he got to the throne room, Eugene was going to give the captain of the guard a great big piece of his mind.

Damn it, they had  _ trusted _ Varian, hadn’t they? They’d humored his weird obsession with alchemy and had tolerated his annoying clinginess, and this was how he repaid them? By lashing out and putting the queen in danger? What’s worse, he was putting  _ Rapunzel _ in danger, which was where Eugene drew the absolute last line. That little pipsqueak might have giant robots on his side, but nothing was going to stand in the way between Eugene and his oath to protect--

_ To protect Varian. _

Eugene stopped, wincing as a split of pain rocked across the top of his skull. For a moment, he stood in the middle of the darkened hallway, rubbing his temple and waiting for the pain to pass, and then… 

He was missing something. Forgetting something? He had to keep moving, had to find Rapunzel, had to help get Queen Arianna back from…

_ It’ll be okay, Varian. If anyone can figure this out, it’s you. _

The pain in his head pulsed again, and Eugene drew in a sharp breath, closing his eyes tight against the discomfort. He just had to ride it out. Once it had passed, he’d get right back to business, which was… Protecting Varian, by… defeating Varian?

Eugene loosed a long, low groan. Was the confusion causing the pain, or was it the other way around? Warring inside him was the drive to protect and the drive to punch, and every time he was certain he knew where either drive should be directed, his head would pulse and he would stumble and wince and forget again. 

Drawing in a deliberate breath, the man rose to his full height and braced himself. He had to keep moving. Somewhere in this big dark castle, Varian was in danger, and he had to--

To find Rapunzel, and help her get the Queen back from the clutches of--

“Goddamnit,” Eugene groaned, hunkering down again and rubbing furiously at his eyes. Everything was just a little too bright, for some reason. Maybe  _ that  _ was why his headache was so bad--all this ambient red light all over the place. Was that why he’d been passing so many sleeping people? They’d all just given up and decided to nap it off?

Suddenly, the image of boilers passed through his head. Cassandra parting ways with them in a back hallway. Varian fleeing the throne room with Queen Arianna--

_ Aha. _ So he  _ had _ taken her! But then… no, that wasn’t right. They’d both been fleeing from something else, and Varian had looked so heartbroken, so afraid, so exhausted, and why did the memory of that make Eugene’s heart cramp? Why did it make him want to protect and punch at the same time? 

His head throbbed again, and he covered his eyes with both palms to try and block out the red glow. If this headache didn’t go away in the next instant, he swore he was going to-- going to… Well, he was going to do  _ something _ dramatic, damnit, even if he didn’t know what yet! Besides, why did he have to be stricken with a migraine now, of all times, when the Queen was being held hostage by a mad scientist--

_ “You’re like a little brother to me. I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.” _

Rapunzel’s voice echoed through the disorienting chatter, and Eugene tried to focus on it.  _ That’s right, _ he thought, because he knew one truth for certain, and that was that he would always do whatever it took to protect Rapunzel. She was the girl he wanted to marry, after all, and…

No, wait. They were already married… Right?

“Eugene,” her voice echoed again, this time closer, and he rubbed at his eyes again. He had to focus if he was going to be any help defeating Varian. After all, he’d promised to protect the little guy, and… Wait.

Eugene groaned, curling forward in frustration only to be stopped by two strong hands on his shoulders. He stood bolt upright, startled, and dropped his hands to reveal a pair of big green eyes wreathed in freckles and long lashes.

The hands moved to cup his face, and Rapunzel smiled at him, relief and concern clear on her face. 

“Blondie,” Eugene asked, trying to comprehend why her hair was, in fact, very brunette and very  _ short. _

“Eugene, thank god,” Rapunzel heaved, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pulled him down into a hug. He embraced her back, albeit it far less confidently, and made stiff from confusion. 

“What happened to your hair,” he asked, his voice unusually raspy. Why was his throat so sore? It felt like he’d been punched in the neck.

But when his girlfriend--wife?--released him, she only gave him a steady, sad smile and smoothed his own hair back from his forehead. Eugene glanced over her shoulder at Rapunzel’s company, and his brain pulsed with another painful throb.

There was Xavier, with Ruddiger perched comfortably on his shoulders. Wasn’t Ruddiger a giant monster only earlier that night? Why was he a welcome and casual companion all of a sudden? 

Then there was Cassandra. Ah, good, some real backup for the fight against V-- But no, that wasn’t right. She was missing the blue hair and black rock armor, but wasn’t  _ she _ the threat? Only… why did he think that?

And then, stepping out from behind both of them, was the Queen herself. Elation and confusion rushed through Eugene as he straightened his posture, eyebrows shooting toward his hairline in surprise. “Your Highness,” he spluttered, “you’re alright!”

“Oh, Eugene,” Rapunzel said softly, “honey, try to remember. It’s the curse. My mother isn’t in danger--she never was.”

Memories of a balcony, shadowed by late sunset, flashed across his vision. The ghost of feeling in his arms where he’d wrapped them around Varian’s torso to pull him back from the banister, before he could drop to his death, before… before he could be  _ pulled _ to his death.

“The curse,” Eugene muttered, followed immediately by a bolt of pain across his brow, curling him into another flinch.

“Exactly,” Rapunzel nodded, sympathy clear in her tone as she rested her hands on Eugene’s arm in a show of comfort. “Do you… know what’s going on?”

Through eyes squinted with pain, Eugene tried to look at the people gathered before him, but each one caused his head to pulse in a different way. Something was off about all of them, as though he knew different versions of them from a different time. Memories that had not yet occurred. 

“The Queen is… Varian took her, but…” A pulse of agony in his forehead cut him off, eliciting a groan from deep within his chest. Rapunzel stepped to the side, placing herself directly between Eugene and the others, and cupped his face gently to guide his attention to her. 

“Look at me, Eugene,” she said evenly, patiently. He did as she instructed, helpless in his confusion. “I’m older than you remember. I’ve had a, ah, haircut. And look,” she said, her tone growing gentle, tender. She guided his attention down to their hands, which she held between them. She turned his left hand over, revealing a beautiful wedding band. She turned her own hand over to show the matching ring on her own finger. “Remember our wedding?”

“How could I forget,” Eugene answered immediately, warmth and fondness flooding him. “We’d been through so much just to get to that day.”

She smiled at him, and it was almost enough to banish the ache from his head. “If you can’t trust your own memories,” she said quietly, “then trust me.”

It didn’t quell the storm of confusion that swirled around him, but her words did cut through the haze like a lighthouse beacon. He couldn’t remember what was going on, and he had no idea why he was angry with Varian while being simultaneously worried sick for him. But he could follow Rapunzel’s guidance, and it would be enough. He gave her a resolute nod. “I can do that, Sunshine.”

“Good,” Cassandra cut in, barely cloaking her impatience. “Glad we’re all moving in the same direction now. Eugene, do you have any idea where we can find Varian?”

The question brought another throb of pain, but he braced against it to the best of his ability. They were looking for Varian because he’d taken the queen, but… there she was. So, no, wait… They were looking for him because he was in danger.

“I… need to get to the throne room,” Eugene tried to explain, looking back to Rapunzel and finding it disorienting to see her without all that blond hair. He got the sense that this did not answer Cassandra’s question, but to her credit, Rapunzel only nodded patiently.

“Why do you need to go there,” she asked, trapping his attention in her beautiful green eyes and sparing him from the headache that came with looking at the others. 

“I don’t, uh… I don’t know,” he answered awkwardly. “I thought I… I knew just a minute ago, I swear, but now I…”

Abruptly, a thought occurred to him that sparked immediate panic. Eugene’s expression must have reflected it, because Rapunzel’s eyebrows lifted. “What is it,” she prompted.

“Andrew is dead,” Eugene answered before he could process what he was saying. “And Varian took the foci to destroy it, but I don’t know how, and I need to… to find him, because he kidnapped the queen, but… He’s hurt, Rapunzel, we have to help him.”

“If the curse is drawing him to the throne room, it may be due to Nigel’s influence,” Xavier interrupted carefully. Rapunzel was staring at Eugene with open distress, trying to process what he had just told her, and he looked back at her with the same problem. Andrew was dead? Andrew… Cassandra’s ex?

He looked to Cassandra, who was staring at him with an unreadable stormy expression. That, at least, was a familiar sight to see.

“Okay,” Rapunzel said, in her best  _ let’s be reasonable _ voice. “There’s a lot to unpack there, but… If Varian is hurt, we don’t have time. Xavier, does that mean Nigel could be in the throne room?”

“Varian is,” Eugene said immediately, startling everyone’s attention back to him. That red ambient light seemed stronger all of a sudden, and anger gripped him, hot and unfamiliar. “The traitor is on trial for what he’s done.”

It wasn’t what Rapunzel said next that snapped him out of it. His name, a plea, a reminder that he was cursed. No, it was the look she gave him, genuine fear at the sight of his face and the sound of his voice, and it was so fundamentally  _ wrong _ to see her like that that Eugene shook it off. The red light dimmed, and the anger faded. His stomach sank with realization and horror at his own words. He’d promised to  _ protect _ Varian, why did he…

Rapunzel touched her hand to his cheek and guided him through a deep breath. 

“Maybe Nigel is drawing in the redeyes who aren’t asleep,” Cassandra said, her tone hard and determined. “Maybe he can control them like the mindtrap talisman.”

“Then we go to the throne room,” Rapunzel agreed, threading her hand into Eugene’s and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Eugene looked around in bewilderment at the group, the moment of clarity granting him a blissful reprieve from his headache. 

“We should hurry,” he said, though he wasn’t sure why. “Varian needs help.”

-

Varian hadn’t expected Nigel to stay still while the alchemist charged at him with a flaming sword, but he hadn’t exactly counted on Frederic swinging in to stop him, either.

In one instant, the only person before him was Nigel, his black coat flowing as he pivoted and demanded the guards intervene. In the next, a bar of iron was swinging toward him, and Varian was ducking back, falling to the floor to dodge the sword as it sailed over his head. His back hit the ground and he slid across the scuffed marble floor, passing by Frederic’s boots as the man tried to pull out of his follow-through. For a moment, the king’s cape drifted over Varian, moving almost in slow motion. 

The alchemist sprung up, ignoring the piercing pain in his shoulder. He pivoted, driving the point of his flaming sword into the tail of Frederic’s cape, sinking the blade into a crack between black and white marble slabs, and pinning the king in place. Distracted by the fire, Frederic twisted and reached for the handle of Varian’s sword, only to retract his hand in a shout of surprise when the burning metal stung his bare skin.

Varian didn’t stop. Frederic was behind him, the guards were in a disorganized panic, and the other redeyes were still scrambling. He was eight, five, three feet from Nigel, and the man was only able to dodge back so far before Varian collided with him head-on.

He had no skill in fighting--Varian could admit that. He didn’t know how to wield a sword, or fight with a knife, or even with his own fists. But so far, ramming into people in a full-on tackle had worked pretty well, so Varian was willing to give it another go.

Nigel’s lithe form offered no cushion for Varian’s shoulder as he rammed into the man. The advisor had had time to get his hands up between them, to try and brace against Varian’s tackle, but the teenager was driven by more than just momentum. This was life or death, and he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

The two of them hit the floor in a graceless tumble. Two rolls across the carpeted dias resulted with Varian on top of his opponent, his knees braced on either side of the traitor below him, his fist raising high and coming down onto Nigel’s high cheekbone. It wasn’t as strong a hit as Varian wanted, but it still felt amazing, the catharsis of it momentarily buoying his spirits.

Nigel’s hand grabbed at Varian’s hair, yanking his head to the side. Varian rolled with it, leaning down in that direction and bringing his elbow into the side of Nigel’s head, earning a swift release from the man’s grip. 

Behind him, Varian could hear Frederic rip his cloak free of the flaming sword, could hear his enraged yell as he flung the burning fur-lined fabric to the floor. Foregoing any other move of self-preservation, Varian drove his hand into the pocket of Nigel’s coat, closed his fingers around the foci, and rolled.

Nigel was quick to follow, unwilling to lose the foci again. The advisor grabbed at Varian’s wrist, shoving the hand which held the foci to the floor with both fists. Pinned, Varian kicked at the torso that was now above him, desperate to dislodge the man, but even when one of Nigel’s hands broke free, Varian could not get away. 

Frederic began stalking up the steps toward them, sword scraping the carpeted marble as he went.

Instinct won out, wild and frantic. Varian drove his knee into Nigel’s groin and wrenched his arm free of the man’s grip, pulling the foci down toward his chest.

Rasping, bent double with one hand cupping himself, Nigel drew a flash of silver from behind his back, a knife with a wicked hook at the end of the blade. On Varian’s other side, Frederic lifted his sword high, fully poised to behead the alchemist in the next breath.

Varian closed his eyes tight, and shoved the foci against the open wound on his shoulder.

A brilliant flash of blue light erupted outwards in all directions, like an electromagnetic pulse. It blew Nigel and Frederic back, the king’s great iron sword toppling loudly to the floor behind him. Varian’s vision went blank, his eyes wide and lit with crystal blue light, his pupils all but vanished. He gasped raggedly, overwhelmed by a pulse of gratitude, guilt, shame, hope, love, everything he felt when he’d been constructing that spell. 

Now with his blood smeared over the foci, it was completed. 

Varian released a shuddering breath. The light faded from his eyes, though it was still hard to see, as though he’d looked too long at the sun. Shaking, he rolled his head to the side to watch as Frederic stopped backing up, his hands on his temples. His eyes, only seconds ago such a brilliant crimson, were flooding with blue light. The anger that had twisted his expression softened, vanished. He gasped like a man just coming up for air after days of drowning in rage. 

The other redeyes were no longer scrambling about. The sounds of shouting and panic quieted down, and people looked around in a new heartbroken fugue, their shoulders finally releasing tension. 

For a moment, Varian could only lay there, gasping and struggling to believe what he was seeing. The red eyed curse was gone, replaced with his own version of the spell. One that was weighted with regret and appreciation, rather than anger. 

Varian could sense everyone who bore the curse. They were mirroring back his emotions like echoes off of a cave wall. The magic-- _ his _ magic--reached out to them, a tether he couldn’t explain or quantify. It was humbling, and vulnerable, and felt so overwhelmingly strange that it sent a shudder down Varian’s spine. 

No one was meant to have this much influence or control over others. They were his emotions, not theirs. But if he was feeling this control, that meant his plan had worked. His curse had overpowered Nigel’s.

Which meant that he was in charge of the foci.

Though he scarcely had any strength left, Varian twisted onto his bad shoulder in spite of the pain, and brought the foci down on the marble dais with every ounce of will he could muster.

The vial struck the ground, and shattered. The instant the glass fractured, a second pulse of light burst outward in all directions, stronger still than when Varian had shoved it against his wound. This time, it left Varian gasping, flattened onto his back. The room spun; his ears rang. His emotions scattered like so many feathers in a strong wind, and for a moment, he had no idea what was his and what wasn’t. Was he angry? Confused, afraid, hopeful, alone? He felt all of them at once, but couldn’t reckon which were genuine. It was only his heartbeat and his breathing that he could truly know where his own.

The light from the broken foci began to fade. Varian took a few careful breaths as reason slowly reasserted itself. Gradually, his sense of self returned to him, and he groaned and tried to sit up.

After all, he was still somewhat certain that everyone in the room wanted to kill him. 

But when he struggled into a seated position and looked out over the room, he found a crowd of people in the exact same state he was in. They were hunkered down, swaying with dizziness and looking around like they’d just woken up from a dream. At the bottom of the dais steps, King Frederic was staring in humble wonder at the flaming sword that was sticking out of his throne room floor. Varian watched as the man carefully smoothed his hair back, looking lost and frightened at what was going on around him.

“You,” a voice to his right seethed, snapping Varian back into focus. He turned, the room tilting slightly at the sudden movement of his head. His heart leapt into his throat. In the overwhelming chaos of breaking the curse, he’d forgotten--how had he forgotten?

Nigel.

The man was struggling to his feet, his expensive coat disheveled and his rage so visibly potent that Varian recoiled at the sight. Blood trailed from his nose, smeared by his own sleeve as he made some vague attempt at looking like he was still in control. In one shaking fist, Nigel clenched the hilt of a dagger, wicked sharp and quivering in his tight hold.

“This means nothing,” Nigel snarled, spittle flying. “The curse can be remade! I  _ refuse _ to be outdone by a flea-bitten little  _ peasant!” _

Varian thought to stand, but his body was shaking, weak from completing the curse, weak from breaking it, weak from days on the run. He only managed to scoot backward, his eyes flickering between Nigel and the knife. Varian’s shoulder was singing with pain, his hands burned and blistered as they pulled him across the floor. He needed a plan, but his mind was blank, still hungover from the recent flood of emotions.

“What is the meaning of this,” Frederic asked, though his bravado was gone. He was disoriented, weakened as Varian was from the curse. Nigel spared him only a disgusted glance, assessing how far the king was from the dais, calculating his next move. 

It was in that moment that the doors far across the throne room rattled and burst open, revealing a party of familiar faces. At their lead, Rapunzel stormed inside, frying pan in hand, her purpose slowed by surprise as she took in the scene before her.

In a daze of panic, Varian clocked Eugene, standing back by the door. He was shaking his head and blinking owlishly with clear eyes while Queen Arianna tried to keep him on his feet.

“Nigel,” Rapunzel called, her voice carrying with more authority, more  _ anger, _ than Varian had ever heard. “Stand down!”

For a moment, Varian could only stare. He hadn’t seen her since the library days before, and here she was, every bit as powerful and unflinching as ever. Relief sparked like wildfire in Varian’s stomach, the same way it had when Rapunzel had saved him from Zhan Tiri, back in the ruins of that old village more than a year ago.

Rapunzel was here. This was as good as over.

Nigel, however, didn’t seem to share in Varian’s certainty. 

“Stupid little girl,” the advisor snarled, his shoulders rising with anger toward his ears. “None of you can stop me. I will restore this kingdom to the height of its power!”

Before anyone could react, Nigel surged at an alarming speed toward the alchemist at his feet. Varian gasped, ducking to the right to try and get away from the dagger, but the knife did not come down. While the room was disoriented, weak and confused--while Rapunzel and Cassandra and the others behind them were too far away to help--Nigel closed his fist around a handful of Varian’s hair, and roughly began to drag him toward the adjoining room behind the throne.

The alchemist cried out, grabbing onto Nigel’s wrist to try and alleviate the pain that burned across his scalp. He kicked his legs uselessly, struggling to get them underneath him, but Nigel was too brisk, too rough in his dragging. The most Varian accomplished was a stumble through the threshold of the room before he was thrown to the floor in front of a large fireplace. 

He heard the doors slam shut behind them, and turned in a scramble just in time to see Nigel rip a decorative sword from the wall and drive it between both handles of the doors. Only seconds later, something slammed against the other side of the door, and he heard Cassandra loose a cry of fury through the wood.

Suddenly, Varian was alone with Nigel, sealed off from any aid. The advisor turned to him then, adjusted his grip on the dagger in his hand, and took a deep breath.

“You won’t win,” Nigel seethed, his voice ragged with rage. “I’ve worked for  _ years _ to build my authority, my  _ influence. _ My father, my father’s father, they served the royal family through disaster after disaster, but not me! I will see this kingdom to greatness,  _ as is my due, _ and I will not suffer an undeserving little rat to come into my castle and undo all of my work!”

As he ranted, the dagger in his grip repeatedly caught the light of the fireplace, glinting with grim promise. Varian scooted backward as Nigel slowly stalked toward him, his bad arm growing more and more useless the more he asked of it. The sounds of rattling and slamming on the other side of the door did not promise immediate rescue.

Nigel looked crazed, with bloodshot eyes and red smeared under his nose. Varian’s full attention snapped to him, panic narrowing his focus to the threat immediately before him.

“If it’s the last thing I do,” the man hissed, “I will have  _ control.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03
> 
> 1) "Lighting the Lanterns" - Eugene struggles with the curse, and finds friends.  
> 2) "Open Road" - Varian fights for his life.  
> 3) "End Titles" - The foci is destroyed; Nigel refuses to quit.


	29. Thus Always To Tyrants, Pt II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varian fights for his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't look at this anymore without my eyes blurring and my soul leaving my body, so its your's now.
> 
> Content warning for eye injuries, if that skeeves you out. Cause it skeeves me out, and I wrote the dang thing.
> 
> PS, yeah that oh hello's album is the cut

On the other side of the double doors, the muffled sounds of slamming and shouting filled the room. A fire crackled low and hot in the massive hearth to Varian’s left, where he sat on the floor facing the entrance to the room. Before him, looming like a viper, was Nigel.

For a horrid moment, neither alchemist nor advisor moved. Both were steeped in the shared realization that this was the end of the line.

Nigel had no reason to keep him alive, that much Varian knew. A hostage would only slow him down in his escape from the castle, especially in the shape the teenager was in. What’s more, Varian had felt Nigel’s anger when he’d taken over the foci. There was no room for mercy in that rage.

And yet, Nigel stood still, his back to the door and his hawk-like eyes boring down on the prey before him. He was recalculating, struggling to find a path forward toward his goal, and until he knew how to do so, he wasn’t about to get sloppy and kill Varian. Not until he was certain he didn’t need him.

“Nigel,” Varian said, his voice halved and shaking. “Enough. You want to make Corona great again, but it never  _ stopped _ being great. Just because it’s different then what you remember doesn’t mean it isn’t wonderful the way it is now.”

“Shut up,” Nigel spat, exactly zero tolerance for reason in his voice. “Don’t think you can talk your way out of this, boy.”

Varian scooted back another few inches, trying to gather his strength, trying to think of a way out. “You hate me,” he said, “but you’re making the same mistake that I did. You’re letting anger rule you.”

Nigel adjusted his grip on the knife and curled his lip in disgust. “Your words are poison,” he snarled. “I cannot be placated with childish notions of goodness. The world is bigger than you and I, bigger than Corona. Human nature craves control,  _ order. _ This royal family cannot provide it, and neither can you. But I see beyond useless frivolity and naive assertions of friendship. I see the path forward.”

“And where is that path now,” Varian asked, his own anger climbing upward into his throat. “The curse is broken, your allies are dead or cowed, and all that’s left is a knife and a set of doors between you and total failure.”

With no small amount of alarm, Varian watched as a cruel smile twisted the corner of Nigel’s mouth. “But that is where you are wrong,” the man hissed. “You think you’re so clever, but you are not the only one who can think his way out of a corner. There is a hidden door over there, and tunnels out of the castle that not even the princess or her little den of thieves know about. Rapunzel’s disastrous adventures have won Corona no shortage of enemies--so many would welcome my insight and experience. Perhaps even your beloved Saporians.”

Varian winced, his own glare deepening. “Andrew is dead.”

Nigel didn’t so much as blink. His smile curled wider. “Then perhaps they need a new leader.”

Despite himself--despite everything--an incredulous laugh bubbled out of Varian’s chest. He couldn’t help it; the image of Nigel leading the Saporians, with all their anti-authoritarian beliefs, was absurd. “Oh, by all means,” he replied, “give  _ that _ a go.”

Nigel turned his nose up, his lip curling. “You laugh, but even those terrorists adhere to more order than  _ Rapunzel. _ How no one else can see it is beyond me. Every step she takes outside of the castle walls brings us that much closer to ruin, and now here we are.”

He lifted his hands as if to gesture at their current state of affairs, the knife glinting in the low light. Varian leaned forward, leveling a glare at the man through his disheveled bangs. “Are you referring to the disaster that  _ you _ created? Because none of this,” Varian waved his good hand around the room, “would be happening if you hadn’t started it.”

“Fool,” Nigel spat. “This is  _ your _ invention. From the minute you stepped into our lives, chaos has stalked at this kingdom’s heels. Your experiments are dangerous, your intentions are untrustworthy, your actions are treacherous. You are a  _ liability, _ and one who should never have been allowed out of the gutter you were born in!”

“Is  _ that _ why you’re angry,” Varian asked. “Because Rapunzel gave me a  _ title?” _

“Because you are a terrorist who nearly destroyed this kingdom, and you were  _ rewarded _ for weaponizing pity and crawling like a  _ tick _ back into the Princess’s good graces,” Nigel howled, his voice turning reedy with fury and pitch, his knuckles white around the knife. “And now you have undone everything I have worked toward in an effort to right this sinking ship! You miserable, insignificant  _ little child!” _

There was a pause, in which Nigel’s uneven breathing filled the air between them. Varian stared at him, speechless only until a thought occurred to him, and the barest ghost of a grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. 

“Well, you know what they say,” Varian said quietly. “It’s the little things in life that end up screwing you over.”

Through the door, a loud  _ thunk _ punctuated the tension. Nigel startled, turning wild eyes over his shoulder to find the barest tip of an axe wedged between a split in the wood, which rocked for a moment before it was yanked out.

Varian moved. He was on his feet as fast as his exhausted body would allow, reaching for the mantle. His burned fingers closed around a marble statuette of a lion, dense and heavy. He dragged it off and swung it at the same instant that Nigel was upon him.

In his rush to regain some advantage, Varian had sacrificed keeping an exact eye on where Nigel was. More specifically, he had looked away from the knife.

In the same moment that Varian swung the statue, something cut across his abdomen, bright and hot and horrifying. The dull sound of stone connecting with flesh was paired with a grunt of pain, and Nigel stumbled away with a shout. The knife flew from his hand, clattering across the floor and skidding under an armchair across from the fire.

Varian sagged against the immaculately carved mantle. He curled an arm against his stomach as if he could press the pain away. With numb horror, Varian peeled his arm from his dampening shirt and tried to understand what the line of blooming red across his stomach meant.

He was running out of adrenaline. About seven feet away, Nigel was cradling his hands against his head where a gash had broken open on his temple. Red cascaded down his face, but the man was still on his feet.

“You miserable little--” he cursed, spluttering on his words and anger. Varian looked to the floor, where the statue had dropped just after he’d hit the advisor. 

He had no plan, and no focus to make one. After days on the run, surviving and fighting, Varian was out of steam. All he knew was that he needed a way to fight if he was going to survive.

“I will not fail,” Nigel howled. In one instant he was several feet away, and in the next, his claw-like fingers were curling into Varian’s dishevelled clothing, pulling him to the carpet with all his strength. The alchemist hit the ground hard, grunting with agony as his injured shoulder crumpled under him. He twisted onto his stomach, trying to right himself and get somewhere, anywhere, so long as it was  _ away. _ Behind him, Nigel bent and lifted the heavy stone lion with both hands.

“What  _ pleasure _ I will take from killing you,” the man seethed, a peel of unhinged laughter like shattering glass around his words. Varian pulled himself forward along the carpet, the knife glinting in the firelight beneath the armchair, only a few feet away.

He heard Nigel grunt with effort, and Varian pulled himself forward on the carpet in a desperate attempt at getting away. The statue came down on the back of his thigh, a crush of pain and surprise that startled a yell out of him.

“Stay  _ still,” _ Nigel demanded, hoisting the statue and stumbling forward, one eye closed tight against the blood from his head wound. Varian did not oblige, pulling himself forward further and reaching as far as his arm would allow, under the armchair, his fingers brushing the hilt of the knife--

The statue landed against his upper back, on the opposite side of his shoulder as the stab wound. A flattened scream split the air, agony crushing both ends of his shoulder, and for a moment, Varian could scarcely breathe from the pain. He lay on the floor gasping, one arm extended outward under the armchair, his fingers only centimeters from the knife. 

And still, Nigel swore fiercely, stepping one foot onto Varian’s back with his full weight to keep him in place while he lifted the statue for a third time. He was aiming for Varian’s head, the alchemist realized abruptly, and if his aim was true, it would be the last instant of Varian’s life. 

The man’s heel dug into his lower back, bruising and sharp, and Varian found it in himself to reach out one final time. The only thing that mattered was that moment, that final pull, his fingers finding the handle, pulling it in, closing around it. With one final push to survive, Varian twisted his bruised torso around, dislodged Nigel’s foot from his back, and drove the knife into the man’s calf.

It was Nigel’s turn to cry out in pain, the statue falling from his surprised grip. Only by some miracle did Varian manage to move his head to the side before it struck the floor, cracking the wood beneath the carpet as it landed. Nigel reared away, hopping and falling halfway to the floor, both hands grabbing at his leg. 

It should have been an advantage, but Nigel was fighting as desperately as Varian. He only spared his calf a moment before he clocked that Varian still held the knife in his grip, and he refocused. 

A bony hand snared the teen’s wrist before he could do anything with it. Nigel was on top of him immediately, slamming Varian’s wrist to the floor and sending the knife flying out of reach. Enraged and focused only on his opponent, Nigel did not pursue the weapon as it clattered away. His free hand closed around Varian’s windpipe, and  _ squeezed. _

“I will  _ not _ let you win,” he howled, spittle flying from his mouth. “I will have control!”

With Varian’s good arm pinned and his bad arm in such agony as to be useless, he could only writhe beneath the man as the pressure on his throat grew steadily worse. He could feel his heart beating in his ears, a desperate and rapid drumming. It drowned out everything; Nigel’s vicious shouting, the axe hammering away at the door, his own gagging and struggling. 

Perhaps driven by fury, or maybe only a lapse in judgement, Nigel released Varian’s wrist and wrapped both hands around his throat. Below him, the small teenager flailed uselessly at the hands killing him. Panic gripped him, a true and bottomless fear that he was about to die. It drove him to writhe with strength he did not have, desperate and horrified at the thought that after everything, he would succumb to Nigel’s rage.

But Varian had always been good at finding alternative solutions to problems, and this was not the first time he’d been strangled over the last few days. Through the hammering heartbeat in his ears, and the intense pressure behind his eyes, he released his useless grip on Nigel’s wrist and reached upward. For a moment, he only palmed at the man’s face, barely able to see for lack of oxygen, smearing blood as he went. He felt Nigel’s sharp cheekbone, the large bridge of his nose, his arched eyebrow. 

With numbing fingers and blurred vision, Varian cracked one eye open, and took aim.

He hardly registered when his thumb pushed into Nigel’s eye socket. Hell, he hardly registered it when Nigel released his throat and reared back, a scream of horror and pain splitting the air. Varian was only aware of air as it flooded his lungs, sparks erupting across his vision. His head throbbed, his neck ached, his limbs felt cold and far away. Varian coughed and spluttered, pitching onto his side to try and breathe. Rasping, he was distantly aware of Nigel stumbling to his feet with one hand clutching his face. His other hand was extended outward, fingers wide and hooked in agony, reaching for something that wasn’t there. 

Across the room, the sword between the door handles was slowly rattling toward freedom with each strike of the axe, but it still had some way to go. Shaking horribly, Varian struggled onto his knees, his good arm bracing against the nearby armchair for support. He couldn’t stop rasping.

For a moment, he could only look around, distantly aware of himself and the room around him. Nigel was occupied with his own pain, staggering up against the mantle of the fireplace for support. It afforded Varian a precious moment of reprieve to collect himself, in what little way he could.

In one direction, the knife lay on the floor, forgotten and at the ready. In the opposite direction, there was a clear path to the door.

Varian knelt, holding his heavy arm close where it hung bloodied and useless at his side. He could scarcely sit up right without pulling on the wound across his stomach, a terrifying unknown that was soaking his shirt and vest with blood. He looked between the knife and the door in a state of numb silence, struggling to determine what to do. He couldn’t see further than the options in front of him, couldn’t imagine steps of a plan. Nothing came to him; only the option of the knife, or the door.

_ “Varian,” _ Eugene’s muffled voice called, filled with dread and power as the axe struck the door again. The alchemist turned stiffly and leaned his back against the armchair, heaving with pain and exhaustion, trembling with what little strength he still had. Everything hurt. He was so  _ tired. _ Even in Cassandra’s tower, or Zhan Tiri’s grasp, or Andrew’s shadow, Varian had never felt so utterly defeated. 

“How  _ dare _ you,” Nigel gasped between moans of pain, turning toward where Varian sat against the chair. The man could barely see, one eye smeared with blood from his head wound, the other indented and gruesome to look at. He stumbled, struggling to identify exactly where Varian was without depth perception. 

Fear resurfaced, and Varian twisted toward the knife. It took falling onto his side and pulling himself toward it, but he found the handle in the dim room and held it out before him with both hands, trembling as he aimed it at Nigel. One last defense; one last attempt at fighting back.

Nigel turned toward him, one arm sweeping out as he stumbled forward unsteadily. The man who had been boasting of an escape plan minutes before was now driven only by savage instinct and rage, the control he so desperately craved nowhere to be seen.

“I’m going to put out your eyes,” Nigel seethed, his voice ragged and harsh, “and break all of your fingers into pieces! I’m going to cut out your wicked tongue, and then I’m going to flay the meat from your bones while you still live to scream!”

Across the room, as Varian stared in horror down the length of the knife at the man staggering toward him, the sword barricading the door clattered to the ground. 

“I’ll have your father drawn and quartered, and your village burned,” Nigel was saying as he limped forward, the knife wound in his leg hindering him considerably. 

A powerful  _ bang _ shook the air as someone rammed the door. 

“And when you have finally suffered for your crimes,” the royal advisor cursed, “I will have you devoured by hounds, and--”

The door burst open, splintering around the lock mechanism. Light from the throne room flooded the dim space. Distantly, Varian could see people rush in, catching their balance from the abrupt entry, but his eyes were fixed on Nigel, wide and horrified. The man either didn’t realize the door had opened, or was determined to finish his threat, because he didn’t so much as turn around. Silhouetted by the bright light, his face red with blood and one of his eyes gouged, it was as if he’d stepped directly out of hell itself.

“I will tear down  _ everything _ you have ever known or loved,” Nigel swore, crazed and feral. “You will never be rid of me! I will be victorious!”

And then a frying pan struck him across the back of his head. Nigel went rigid, and crumpled to the floor.

Varian kept the knife aimed at him, his arms trembling horribly. Any second, the advisor would spring back up, lunge at him, and carry out his terrifying threat. Varian’s heart beat rabbit fast, his breaths quick and shallow. He couldn’t look away from Nigel’s crumpled form, couldn’t process that he was no longer a threat.

Someone said his name. Bodies had flooded the room, halberds glinting in the light and making Varian flinch back, but their spear tips all pointed at Nigel. Someone crouched down beside him, speaking to him, low and steady. Tentatively, a large hand settled on his wrist and carefully slid over his shaking hands. 

Only then did he look away from where Nigel lay. Beside him, surprisingly close, was Eugene. “Varian,” he said carefully, his voice low and steady. “Let go.”

Varian didn’t understand what he meant, not until Eugene closed his steady hand over Varian’s quaking fingers and began to gently pry the knife away. When Varian did let go, it was stiff and mechanical, his open palms hanging in the air around where the knife just was.

An arm looped around his upper back, helping him to sit up. Varian had no strength to do so on his own, letting the arm lift him until his stomach pierced with pain and he sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth. 

“Hang on,” Eugene said, that same even tone beside his ear. “It’s okay. It’s okay, kid, I’ve got you.”

Limp, Varian leaned directly into Eugene’s chest. His eyes lingering on Nigel, his hands stretched out in front of him as if to brace against the next assault. For a moment, Eugene rested his chin on Varian’s head, hot breath ruffling the alchemist’s hair as he sighed in relief. 

Varian opened his mouth to speak, to say…  _ something, _ he didn’t know what. An excuse? An apology? What was someone supposed to say right after being rescued from the jaws of death?

But before he could find the words, Cassandra knelt down in front of him. Her body language was slow and deliberate, her eyes shining with worry and hard with residual anger. Varian looked at her, barely able to process that she was there. Gradually, he curled his arms against his abdomen, and gave up on trying to speak.

Unfamiliar voices were shouting instructions of arrest. Nigel was hauled up and away, vanishing into a swarm of guards in the throne room outside. Varian watched until he could no longer see the advisor, until he was certain that the man would not rush at him again. When he was finally gone, Varian turned his face into Eugene’s shoulder, and took a shaking, audible breath. 

“Varian,” Rapunzel’s voice called out, pushing through the people in the room and dropping to her knees beside Cassandra. “Thank god, are you hurt?”

Varian listened as Eugene answered for him, his voice echoing and deep in his chest where Varian’s ear was pressed against it. “We need to get him to the infirmary,” the captain said, worryingly grim.

“No,” Cassandra said evenly, “it’ll be full of people recovering from the curse. We need to bring a doctor to him.”

“I can get Madame Argent,” Rapunzel offered, sounding frazzled and urgent. “She’s the royal physician.”

“We need to get him out of here,” Eugene was saying, and suddenly, Varian felt like he needed to speak up. He couldn’t become a burden, not after everything that had happened. 

“I can walk,” he said tightly, lifting his head from Eugene’s shoulder and opening his eyes, though they remained tight with pain. The three adults around him turned their attention to the alchemist, each surprised that he spoke up at all.

“Are you kidding, Varian,” Eugene asked, a small noise of laughter confusing the alchemist in his arms. “After everything you’ve done? I think you can take it easy now.”

Varian frowned, confused, and looked from Cassandra to Rapunzel for clarification. Both of them reflected Eugene’s tired fondness in their eyes. 

“He’s right, Varian,” Rapunzel agreed. 

“You did it, kid,” Eugene continued, a small amount of awe shining through his steady tone.

Varian turned his tender neck toward him, trying to understand what that meant. “Did what,” he rasped, his ears ringing. He was still trying to process that he was out of danger. It had happened so suddenly that he still wasn’t sure it was real.

The corner of Eugene’s eyes crinkled with a deepening smile. Varian turned when he felt a hand settle on his good shoulder, and found Cassandra’s eyes again. Her smile was frazzled and complicated. 

“You saved Corona, Varian,” the warrior answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03
> 
> 1) "Finale I: Apex" - Nigel and Varian clash.  
> 2) "Bounden Duty" - The door is broken; Varian is rescued.


	30. A New Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle is over, and (rather rudely) time keeps moving. Cassandra is restless. Rapunzel struggles with an ethical dilemma. Varian gets back on his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QUESTION: Would y'all be interested in a threequel? I have a concept brewing that I like, but obviously it's a fair amount of work to actually put a story out, so if you guys are sorta Over It ('it' being this fandom, this series, w/e) that's totally cool too. Is a Part 3 something you'd be interested in?
> 
> For this particular story, I think there's one chapter left? Depending on how pedantic I get. This chapter is twice as long as usual and I don't have the heart to break it up so, ah, sorry? Sorry. 
> 
> PS i've listened to so much filmscore because of this fic that my spotify algorithm now thinks i'm a 60 year old man
> 
> PPS i am very much not a 60 year old man

_One day after The Red Curse._

The following morning, a downpour rolled in from the east. Wind whipped in off of the ocean, driving the storm against the castle, dislodging roof shingles and rattling window panes throughout the capital. 

Rapunzel had said it was cleansing, but Cassandra wasn’t so sure. She sat in the deep stone windowsill of Eugene’s old quarters, one leg bent casually toward her chest, the other hanging over the side. The world outside was blurred beyond recognition, streaked with water running down the leaded panes. She listened to the howl of the wind and closed her eyes, trying to imagine that she was somewhere else.

The Fitton Coast was perpetually stormy, and she had been there only a few months ago. A small village had hired her to pursue a man who had stolen their supply of antitoxins for his own resale. She and Fidella had pursued him along the swampy beachline, catching him just south of a cove that would be swallowed at high tide. Cassandra could remember her hair plastered to her face, her fingers numb and pink around the reigns, her smile wide with exhilaration. She had been far from her past, her mistakes, her true identity. Life had been a string of odd jobs and campfires, and when she would start to feel the ghost of what she’d done creeping up on her, she’d break camp and move on.

The itch to do so was never more alive than sitting on that windowsill. Being in Corona, being in the _castle,_ was suffocating, even if she’d come for a good reason. Things were too complicated here, the threads of her choices twisting and tangling and trapping her in place. She wanted to hitch Fidella and head out again, but how was she supposed to leave after all that had happened?

Behind her, a small miserable voice pulled Cassandra from her thoughts. “Oh, god,” Varian murmured beneath his breath, more of a groan than anything else. 

With the infirmary overrun (as she had predicted), the discussion of where to let Varian rest had been oddly tense. Rapunzel had, of course, immediately requested that he stay in her own chambers, that she and Eugene would be more than happy to share. She’d argued that after nearly a year on the road, close quarters would not bother them, and had insisted that it would give her great peace of mind to know he was alright firsthand. 

But she was the Crown Apparent, and Eugene her husband, and even with the ashes of Nigel’s coup still falling around them, some decorum was too fundamental to break. Rapunzel, growing openly frustrated with being denied, had dug her heels in and nearly begun an argument with her father then and there. It was Varian of all people who derailed it, quietly siding with the King while avoiding eye contact with both of them. Everyone had promptly softened.

So it was agreed that Eugene’s old quarters were sufficient. Ten long hours, a vial of sleeping drought, and a nauseating number of sutures later, an unspoken agreement between her and the royal couple had seen Cassandra taking first watch. Not long after everyone had left, and the dust in the room began to resettle, Varian had woken up.

Cassandra had spent some time trying to talk him into sleeping again, but Varian hadn’t even tried. He looked utterly exhausted, sore despite the medicine he’d been given for the pain. He was quiet, too, unsettlingly so, and so Cassandra had done more talking than she’d ever done between the two of them. She’d told him about arm wrestling sailors in far away port towns, about an icy trip into Arendell, about the time she’d bonded with a wolf pack after stalking the same prey as them for three weeks. He listened to each story, even asked a few raspy questions, but Cassandra couldn’t tell how present he was.

When she’d thought for certain he would fall back to sleep, Cassandra had retreated to the windowsill to watch the storm. Apparently, her departure from his bedside had been premature.

“Don’t try to use your hands,” she scolded quietly, turning to find Varian examining his bandages. 

“They’ve gotten so stiff,” he said with a wince, curling his fingers only a fraction of an inch before looking up at the ceiling in defeat. 

Cassandra laughed through her nose and stood. “Yeah, smartass, they’re burned. Burns do that.”

“Burns suck,” came his counterpoint, and Cassandra smiled as she took up the chair beside his bed. He glanced down from the ceiling at her, the shadows under his eyes making him look both smaller and older than he was. “I shouldn’t have lit that sword on fire.”

“Varian, I will think about that flaming sword for the rest of my life,” Cassandra answered. “You’ve done some pretty cool stuff, but that is easily my new favorite thing about you.”

This earned her a small smile, before he turned his eyes away. He was propped up on a large overstuffed pillow to make drinking easier, since the slash on his abdomen was too fresh to agitate by sitting him up. For a moment, they sat in silence listening to the rain drum against the window. It was jarring to think that only the night before, they’d almost lost everything.

They’d almost lost Varian.

Cassandra took a quick breath and forced the thought from her mind. It was too alarming to think about.

“Well,” she said, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, “I can’t order you to sleep, and I can’t bore you to sleep with stories. So what are we doing here, Varian?”

The alchemist took a careful breath and kept his eyes downcast. He was silent for long enough that Cassandra began to wonder if she’d said the wrong thing, if perhaps she should retract it. She drew a breath to do so, mentally kicking herself, but Varian spoke first.

“I guess I’m afraid to,” he admitted, his voice so soft she almost missed it. Varian lifted his gaze to her and Cassandra was struck by how helpless he looked. 

For a moment, she simply looked back, trying to process his words. Was he afraid that he was still unsafe in the castle? Did he think she would leave as soon as he nodded off? Or…

Or was he just unsure about sleeping with _her_ in the room?

The chair creaked softly as Cassandra sat back, staring at the alchemist in the hopes that she’d find proof this wasn’t the case. But why would he feel safe around her? They’d gotten emotional in an old mill after a traumatic escape from Trevor and Andrew. That didn’t mean Varian suddenly trusted her to keep him safe again, not after everything she had--

“I’m worried I’ll wake up, and things will have ended differently,” Varian said quietly, pulling Cassandra from her silent spiral. “Is that… Does that even make sense?”

The warrior wasn’t immediately sure what to say. Did that mean he wasn’t afraid of her? Blinking a few times in rapid succession, Cassandra forced herself to take a deep breath, and ran a hand down her face. “Yeah,” she answered, pinching the bridge of her nose momentarily. “Yeah, it does.”

When she dropped her hand, she found Varian watching her closely, unconvinced. Cassandra forced herself to lower her shoulders. “It makes sense,” she insisted. “How many times in the last few days did you almost succeed, only for the universe to kick you in the teeth?”

Varian’s hand drifted unconsciously toward the fresh bandages on his arm, stiff fingers brushing the edge of the wrappings as if to pick at them. His ticks were so consistent that a surge of fondness shook Cassandra out of her earlier panic. “But Varian,” she said gently, leaning forward to take his errant hand between hers, “no dream, no matter how frightening, can change the fact that you won. You’ve been steeped in ‘Fight of Flight’ mode for days. You have to give your brain time to calm down. You’ll see.”

She felt his gauze-clad hand shift between her palms, his fingers gently curling around the side of her hand. When he spoke, his voice was raspy, barely above a whisper. “Thanks, Cassie.”

The corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. “Of course, Varian. _Now_ will you get some sleep?”

Varian’s grin was as quick as it was snarky, a quality that she was surprised to see on such a bruised face. “Only if you finish that story about the travelling yarn salesman.”

Cassandra forced a groan, though the latter half of it sounded an awful lot like a laugh. “Seriously? Force-feeding you sleeping drought would be more humane.”

“He was shearing sheep at night to steal their wool,” Varian prompted, ignoring her suggestion. “And you were hired to find him.”

For a moment--only an instant, until she noticed the stiffness in the set of his shoulders, the tightness in his eyes, the fact that his bandages would need to be changed soon--Cassandra could have pretended that everything was normal. Varian’s voice was weak, but no less engaged and sassy then she remembered it. How funny, she thought, that after everything, she could still see glimmers of a normal, healthy friendship.

“Was that where I left off,” she asked, leaning back in her chair. She could grant him this, after he had afforded her his forgiveness. It was the least she could do. “So it was spring, and all the sheep were starting to give birth…”

-

_Two days after The Red Curse._

“If one more person says the word ‘Equis’ to me today, I’m going to lose it,” Rapunzel announced, shoving the door to their bedroom shut behind her with the same finality of an ax approaching wood.

Eugene was already perched on the side of their bed, pulling his boots off before exhaustion took him over completely and he decided to sleep with them on. “Tell me about it,” he sighed, tossing one boot aside without any care for where it landed.

“It’s not fair! That he can just--” Rapunzel’s hands flew about as she tried to find the right words. _“How_ can he get away with that?”

“He’s the reigning monarch of one of the Seven Kingdoms,” Eugene offered.

“And that excuses him from trying to hunt my husband for sport? For kidnapping our royal engineer and scheming to launch a war against us?” Rapunzel stormed to the bed as she spoke, rigid only for as long as it took to get the words out. As soon as she approached, she turned and dropped backward onto the mattress beside her husband, her arms splayed out on either side of her. 

“Well,” Eugene hummed, “you said you _don’t_ want to go to war…”

Rapunzel dragged a throw pillow onto her face and held it there. Eugene listened to her muffled scream before she lowered the pillow to her chest and wrapped her arms around it, glowering up at the canopy above them. He leaned to catch her eye.

“And if we _did_ go to war, it would trigger all sorts of treaties between said kingdoms, which is about as complicated and horrifying a prospect as it sounds,” he concluded, leaning onto his elbow beside her and taking one of her fisted hands in his. “Blondie, I know you’re angry. Believe me, I am too. I’m the guy he tried to hunt, remember. But you’ll burn yourself out arguing with the counsel about this.”

“If he were anyone else,” she replied hotly, “he’d be imprisoned for what he did. What he _tried_ to do.”

Eugene eased a sigh out of his chest and leaned forward to place a placating kiss on his wife’s temple. “For now, we should just be grateful that he failed,” he said quietly, his breath ruffling her hairline. 

Rapunzel drew a deep breath and let it out slowly in an effort to calm herself down. She rolled her face toward him, tucking her head beneath his chin and turning so that their bodies were facing one another, the pillow between them. “When I’m queen, I’m going to make sure he sees justice for what he did,” she said quietly, though the fight was rapidly leaving her now. 

“And I can’t wait to see it,” Eugene agreed, draping an arm over her. For a few long minutes, the two lay like that, fully clothed on top of the bedspread, resting in each other’s warm embrace. 

A gentle knock on the door interrupted them before either of them could nod off. “Your Highness,” a woman’s voice prompted gently through the door. “Shall we attend you tonight?”

Rapunzel turned and lifted her head as she called back. “No thank you, Ethel.”

Out in the hall, the reply came promptly. “Of course, Princess. Sleep well.”

“You too, Ethel,” Rapunzel answered, trying to sound warm and friendly despite her fatigue. Her eyes turned back to her husband, who was stubbornly attempting to fall asleep on the spot. 

Eugene looked about as exhausted as she felt. Her eyes lingered on his bruised throat, and a worry began to creep forward from the back of her mind. 

“Do you think Varian is alright,” she asked, so gentle it was nearly a whisper as she lay her head back down. Eugene opened his eyes, their usual sparkle dulled with concern that matched her own.

“He’ll be okay with Cassandra there,” he answered. “She won’t let anything hurt him.”

“But what if he’s in pain,” Rapunzel pressed, unable to help herself. “What if he can’t sleep, or he’s scared? Ugh, it’s so _stupid_ that he has to be all the way down there.”

In spite of their shared worry, Eugene’s mouth pulled into a smile. “Well, we could always sneak down for a visit. Crash their little sleepover. You think they’re talking about their feelings right now?”

She gave him a grateful smile, made tight by a groan. “You know I wish I could, but the council is reconvening at first light.”

Quiet lapsed between them, except for the drum of rain outside. Unspoken were all the reasons why the council had been in session non-stop since the curse was ended, each and every one of them more complicated than the last. 

“Funny,” Eugene hummed humorlessly, “I always thought that Cassandra’s return would be the most dramatic thing for the council to be upset about, but they’ve hardly even acknowledged that she’s here.”

“Not when peace between the Seven Kingdoms is on the line,” Rapunzel sighed. Fatigue washed over her again at the thought, a kind of unshaped dread looming. She was quiet for a moment before glancing up at her husband nervously. “Eugene, what if we can’t fix the damage that Nigel did? Even if Equis concedes and offers reparations, how are we supposed to rebuild trust when we know Trevor was planning on going to war with us? So much hangs in the balance.”

Eugene brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and cupped the side of her face, his palm warm against her skin. “I know, Sunshine. But you don’t have to face it alone. We’re all here beside you.”

She leaned into his palm, closing her eyes. His reassurances did little to settle her worry. “That’s what scares me,” she admitted quietly. “All of this could have been avoided if we’d caught on to Nigel sooner. And because we didn’t, he nearly destroyed everything, nearly _murdered_ Varian. How am I supposed to look him in the eye after this? How am I supposed to lead a kingdom if I can’t even protect my friends?”

“Hey,” Eugene chided softly, “the only person responsible for what Nigel did is _Nigel.”_ He said the man’s name with no small amount of anger or bitterness. “You’re not responsible for the actions of other people. Varian knows that.”

“I… I know,” Rapunzel sighed, pressing the side of her face into the bedspread and closing her eyes tightly. “We just came so close to losing him. The fact that we could have is horrifying.”

In the darkness of their room, Eugene pressed a kiss to her forehead and took a deep breath. 

The feeling, she knew, was mutual.

-

_Three days after The Red Curse._

In a perfect world--which he seemed to keep having and losing--Eugene would have slept until mid-day after all he’d been through. He would have woken to find imported coffee and a tray of fruit and pastries, and spent the day luxuriating in silk sheets and pillows. 

But if the last few days had proved anything, it was that Eugene’s life was far from accommodating. That morning before dawn, Eugene hauled his aching body out of bed and dressed for another long day of arguing and accusations. The rain had not let up over the few hours that he and Rapunzel had slept, droning away as the wind continued to push the storm inland. It made the already-dark morning feel heavier, somehow, as though no time had passed at all.

The royal couple walked silently down the corridor, hand in hand. Rapunzel’s face appeared as grim as he felt. She had scarcely said a word since they’d woken up, and while Eugene didn’t know exactly what was on her mind, he knew conflict when he saw it. Whatever it was, Rapunzel was struggling to find an answer for herself.

They heard the throne room before they even rounded the corner to see the door. The council was still arguing, and by the sound of it, someone had said something controversial. When they arrived at the entrance, Rapunzel stopped only long enough to look at Eugene for support. He nodded, giving her hand a squeeze, before the guards stationed on either side pulled the doors open.

“--to even _suggest_ that we take such action betrays the staggering ineptitude that lead to this disaster!”

“Better to be assertive and make it clear to our enemies that we will not be bullied!”

“This presumes we have enemies! Only last week, the Seven Kingdoms were operating as always, and now we have _enemies?”_

“All rise,” the baritone voice of a guard interrupted, “for Her Royal Highness, Princess Rapunzel, and Prince Eugene of the Dark Kingdom.”

The cacophony of voices abruptly cut short. The members of the council, nine in all, turned and offered the stiff bows and nods that protocol demanded. 

Few if any had gone to sleep the night before. When Queen Arianna had requested a recess, some had argued that the matter “was not yet resolved to a satisfactory degree”, and that they would rather continue to debate. So much was obvious by their rumpled clothing and loosened collars. Only the oldest members of the council had taken recess. 

Queen Arianna appeared to have gotten some rest, but not much. Frederic clearly had not left his throne all night.

“Rapunzel,” he greeted, his voice harder and more alert than Eugene would have guessed after a night of arguing. Hell, after several days under the influence of the curse, the king should have been as disoriented as everyone else. Apparently, his own anger had kept him sharp.

“Father,” Rapunzel greeted in return. She crossed the room to her seat beside him without another word, only nodding respectfully to the council members she passed. Eugene followed, aware that he was only allowed in because of the wedding band on his finger. 

Their arrival seemed to reset the group. Members who had been standing took their seats, exhausted and irate. Eugene scanned over their faces as he sat down, sweeping the room until his gaze found the remnants of the sideroom door. 

The splinters of wood had been swept up, the doors themselves removed from their hinges. In fact, any sign of the last few days was gone from the throne room, except for a few scuffs on the floor and a missing brazier. 

Eugene briefly wondered if they’d cleaned Varian’s blood out of the carpet, before he forced the thought from his mind with a shudder.

Beside him, Rapunzel turned to her father. “How are you feeling, dad?”

Though his eyebrows did not unknit, Frederic’s expression softened for a moment. “I’m fine. The council and I have come to a decision, Rapunzel.”

The princess blinked, turning her gaze toward the gathering before the throne. “A decision about Equis? So soon?”

The council members, whose chairs were arranged in a semi-circle before the dias, glanced at one another. After a pause, a severe woman with a long braid over her shoulder cleared her throat. “No, Princess. About the traitor.”

Somewhere far out at sea, distant thunder split the silence that followed. Eugene watched as Rapunzel slowly eased back in her chair, her expression unusually difficult to read. “I see,” was all she said.

No one spoke. Maybe it was only for a few seconds, or maybe it was for a year. Either way, Eugene felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle, nerves sparking back to life despite his exhaustion. Here it was; had the council waited until Rapunzel and Eugene had left to discuss this in detail? The day before, they had been so preoccupied with Equis that Eugene had wondered if they were ever going to address the architect of this entire disaster. If they’d made a decision only once Rapunzel and he had left, did that mean it was going to infuriate them?

“And what decision would that be,” Eugene asked, unable to stop himself after his anxiety got the better of him. The woman with the braid turned her sharp eyes toward him for only a moment before looking directly back at Rapunzel.

But it was not the councilwoman who spoke, nor anyone else who sat before them. It was Frederic, who lifted his chin and kept his head turned only partially toward his daughter when he spoke.

“The traitor will be hanged at the neck until dead, in three days time.”

This time, when silence overtook the room, Eugene did not feel compelled to break it. Rain pattered against the windows that lined the great hall, the only noise aside from his heartbeat. 

He felt… he didn’t know how he felt. He looked at Rapunzel, but didn’t find an answer in her stormy eyes. It seemed as though the room was waiting for her reply, no one daring to speak until they knew how she would react. Even Frederic remained quiet, watching his daughter closely. The lines on his face had never been so apparent.

When Rapunzel did speak, Eugene got the sense that this was what she had been turning over all night. This was why she’d been quiet that morning, and why her expression was so hard to read.

“Does that make us as bad as him,” she asked quietly, an edge to her voice that Eugene scarcely recognized.

Frederic drew a long, carefully breath. “Rapunzel,” the king began carefully, “it is the only option.”

“It is the opinion of the council,” a large man with an even larger beard said, “that Nigel’s actions are irredeemable. He has compromised the peace of the Seven Kingdoms, the unity of the royal houses, and the safety of Corona. He attempted nothing less than a coup, and we believe that given the opportunity, he will try again.”

Rapunzel took an unsteady breath. Eugene reached between them and curled his hand over her wrist in a show of support. Beneath his fingers, her pulse beat rabbit-fast.

“There was a time,” she said, “where you argued the same thing about Varian. And now, only a few years later, he’s _saved_ the entire Kingdom of Corona. He nearly gave his life for us.”

It didn’t sound so much like an argument as it did a statement of fact. Perhaps the truth of it, Eugene realized, was not that Rapunzel opposed the decision. Perhaps the reason she looked so stricken was that she agreed with it.

“Sunshine,” Eugene said carefully, surprised by the sound of his own voice, by the fact that he was speaking up at all. “Nigel is not Varian.”

Rapunzel said nothing. The council remained respectfully quiet, a surprising change from the shouting they’d entered the room to only shortly before. 

Maybe they were simply allowing her to process their decision. Or maybe, like Eugene, they understood that Rapunzel would not--would likely _never--_ make peace with the ethical quandary she now faced. 

On the opposite side of the king’s throne, Queen Arianna stood. She smoothed her dress, and crossed in front of her husband with a grace that only she possessed. Gently, she placed a hand on Rapunzel’s shoulder until she looked up at her. Then, in a calm voice, she spoke only to her daughter, as though the rest of the room were empty.

“Come with me.”

-

Tentatively, Varian’s feet found the stone floor beside his bed. The cold pressed through his socks, and his legs felt weak and unsteady, but Cassandra guided him up carefully until he was standing under his own power. 

“But seriously,” she said, “don’t tell anyone I helped you do this.”

It had not been hard to convince Cassandra to assist him in getting out of bed. If anyone knew how frustrating it was to lie around and be tended to, it was her, after all her injuries from the sparring ring growing up. Varian took a few tentative steps before sighing in relief at finally being able to move around.

Everything hurt. The real barrier to his mobility was his abdomen: the cut that Nigel had gifted him was not deep, but it absolutely hated being pulled or squished in either direction. Even rotating his torso to reach for things pulled at the stitches and caused him pain. 

Not that he could reach for things, with one arm in a sling. He had been told in no uncertain terms that it was a miracle his shoulder blade had not been broken outright, though it was likely fractured in some way. Nevermind the stab wound; Varian would not see full control of his arm back any time soon, if at all. It would always be stiff and resistant, the physician had said. 

He’d have to lower some of the shelves in the lab, he supposed.

“On a scale of one to ten, how soon do I look like I’ll be back to normal,” he asked, cupping one hand against his middle to steady himself as he moved toward the window. 

Cassandra hummed a single note. “Does ‘ten’ mean you’re ready to do cartwheels?”

Outside, the rain was still coming down, albeit more gently than before. It had been days since it started, though he hadn’t been conscious for the first part. “Fine. On a scale of ‘bedridden’ to ‘no one is fussing over me anymore’, how are things looking?”

“I’d say it’s hovering somewhere around ‘you’ll never be allowed to go to the shops alone again’,” Cassandra replied, amusement clear in her tone. She stepped up beside him, her gaze turning outward to the kingdom below. Trails of chimney smoke snaked upward from dozens of houses, from the top of the hill all the way down to the docks. 

Varian sighed. It had taken weeks before his friend’s overprotectiveness had faded the last time, when he’d been rescued from Zhan Tiri. He knew they meant well, but Varian had never been so supervised in all his life, not even in prison. He’d grown up falling out of trees and building inventions that were prone to explode, with almost no parental oversight. He would be lying if he said he didn’t mind being babysat now. 

As if on cue, the door to the room creaked open. Varian turned stiffly toward it, mild alarm rising within him, though whether it was a lingering survival instinct or simply fear of the physicians scolding him, he didn’t know.

“He lives,” Eugene announced, stepping into the room with his arms spread wide as though he were witnessing a miracle.

Relief and happiness washed over Varian with the force of a child on Christmas morning. He had relied so heavily on Eugene’s constant presence that the lack of it over the last few days had been jarring, to say the least. Before he could greet him back, the man was upon him, his arms closing around him in a careful hug. “Oh, buddy, it’s good to see you on your feet,” Eugene heaved, giving Varian a little extra squeeze before releasing him.

“Which you should _not_ be,” Rapunzel scolded from behind her husband, her own smile warm and relieved. “I’m pretty sure you were told to stay in bed.”

“Cassandra did it,” Varian said immediately.

“He has no proof of that,” Cassandra cut back just as fast, as Rapunzel waved Eugene aside to give Varian her own hug. Her’s was far more tentative, and over her shoulder, Varian stuck his tongue out at Cassandra, who flashed him a rude hand gesture while grinning back.

It was that moment that Arianna stepped forward into the room, causing both Varian and Cassandra to startle and go rigid with embarrassment. “How are you feeling, Varian,” the queen said, graciously ignoring their shared childishness. 

Rapunzel stepped away, allowing Varian to curl his free arm around his middle. “I’m alright, your Majesty,” he answered in a small voice, suddenly feeling vulnerable and awkward. 

“Your Highness,” Cassandra greeted with a stiff and shallow bow, clearly uncomfortable as well. Her eyes swivelled between the three newcomers, confusion clear in her posture. “Has the council taken recess?”

Beside Varian, Rapunzel’s happy demeanor fell away. Eugene placed a supportive hand on her shoulder, his own expression unusually somber. 

“The council is still in session,” Arianna answered. “We came to share some news with you.”

While Varian watched the queen, he felt Rapunzel’s hand slide into his own and close tentatively around his bandaged fingers. He turned to look at her, confusion slowly eroding into worry at the expression she wore. She took a deep breath, grounding herself, and looked him in the eye. 

“Nigel has been sentenced to death for what he did,” she said without pretext. The quality of her voice was firm, like someone bracing to rip off a bandage. Her eyes, however, were vulnerable, searching his reaction for some sort of approval. 

In a click, Varian understood why they’d come. Rapunzel was not built for these sorts of decisions, not without great personal cost. And out of everyone in the castle, Varian was the only person who knew what both sides of the system looked like. She was looking to him for guidance, whether she knew it or not.

Somehow, this realization was more jarring than the news that Nigel would die. He wished he could appreciate the irony, even if it would have been bitter. But the truth was, Varian had known with a deep instinctual certainty that Nigel was going to be sentenced to death. He’d known the minute that the man had dragged him into the room adjoining the throne room, the minute he was alone with him. With the curse broken and the impending fallout on its way, it had not been hard to see Nigel’s fate looming over his head.

Unsure of how to respond, Varian’s eyes drifted away into the middle distance for a moment. Did he try to reason with her, make an argument for the relative morality of their situation? Would it help, if he presented a case that would take some of the burden off of Rapunzel’s shoulders?

No. All he had to do, all he _could_ do, was react honestly. And his genuine response was that of relief, after the terrible things Nigel had promised him just before the door to that room had been broken down. Varian knew what it was like to live with the knowledge that someone out there meant him harm; he was relieved that he would not have to add another name to that list.

So he squeezed Rapunzel’s hand as much as he could and looked back to her, a sad smile on his face. “I guess I’ll sleep better at night once he’s gone,” he said quietly.

Rapunzel’s expression softened. She exhaled, releasing her held breath, and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “I will too,” she said, so quietly that Varian almost missed it even though she was right by his ear. The admission felt like a secret, something that would live only with the two of them, and when she leaned away, a silent promise passed between them that it would stay that way.

“Well then,” Eugene said, drawing in a deep breath. “Feels like, ah, breakfast time? Anyone? Breakfast?”

Arianna stepped forward, stopping in front of Varian and brushing his bangs behind his ear on one side. Her smile was so kind and gentle that for a moment--for the barest, most vulnerable instant--Varian was reminded of his own mother. “I have to get back to the council,” she said. “Someone has to be the voice or reason. Will you keep an eye on these two for me?” 

She nodded toward Rapunzel and Eugene. When her daughter moved to protest, Arianna raised an eyebrow at her with a smile. “They’re going to be arguing politics for days,” she said. “And all of you need to get some rest.”

She gave Eugene a pointed look before turning back to Varian. “There will be time later for ceremony, and I’m sure you’ll hate every second of it. But for right now, Varian, since I haven’t had the chance to say it yet: thank you.”

Varian blinked. As her words processed, he felt his cheeks warm, his posture wilting like a flower under her smile. He swallowed, wincing at the ache in his throat. “Uh… I, uh,” he stammered quietly. She cupped his cheek in her hand, tilting his gaze back to meet hers. 

“I’m so proud of you,” she said quietly, genuinely. Varian blinked, stilled by surprise. Before he could respond, Arianna turned and gave Rapunzel’s shoulder a squeeze before she headed toward the door, and was gone.

Varian didn’t move, staring at the door in numb silence. Even when Eugene said something about pancakes, and Rapunzel said something about the council, and Cassandra said something about just getting a damn cup of coffee, Varian didn’t look away from the door. 

A hand settled on his good shoulder, and it broke the spell. Varian turned big, helpless eyes up to Eugene.

“Think you can make it to the kitchens,” the man asked, smiling like he knew exactly what Varian was thinking. 

“Coffee,” Cassandra added dryly, though her own eyes sparkled at what she had just witnessed. 

Varian blinked rapidly, brushing his bandaged knuckles against his eyes quickly to rid them of tears. “Yeah,” he agreed, the barest tremor to his voice, “I could eat.”

Rapunzel stepped up beside him as Eugene moved away, her hand settling on his upper back and rubbing a few small circles against his warm tunic. “Hot cocoa sounds nice,” she offered. 

“Coffee,” Cassandra repeated, a little more insistently. 

As his friends debated over what to eat, Varian touched his free hand to his sling, feeling the soft familiar ache of the wound on his forearm through the fabric and bandages. Funny, he thought distantly, how what was once such a frightening wound had become a new normal. 

Taking a deep breath, Varian looked up at Eugene and smiled. “I’ll need help getting my boots on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03
> 
> 1) "A Close Friend" - Day 1  
> 2) "Bit of Fluff" - Day 2  
> 3) "Hanging Gardens" - Day 3


	31. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rapunzel confronts her demons. Varian visits the forge. The story comes to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I'll be damned. 11 months, this took. 9 of which desperately demanded a distraction, admittedly... but I wouldn't have actually gotten to the end of this without your guys's wildly encouraging support. This is going to sound trite as hell, but I really can't thank you all enough. 
> 
> So, yeah. There'll be a third one. I'll put it out sometime in the next few weeks. There are more notes about it at the bottom of this chapter, but in the meantime... Lets, uh, finish this bad boy, huh?

The Event, as it was referred to by all who organized it, was not a public affair. As Rapunzel understood it, Nigel had spent his nights in prison making his case to anyone who would listen, spewing threats and making promises to one day succeed at his goal. He was so fervent in his rhetoric that the council feared he would sway even a few people to his side, and so the citizens of Corona were not allowed to witness his death.

It should have vindicated her relief. Nigel was not humbled or regretful in the slightest. If they had not broken down that door when they did, he would have murdered Varian then and there. But the thought of taking another life, even one so violent and hateful, left Rapunzel sick to her stomach.

The three days between the decision and the Event blurred together. The council argued for long hours about what to do with Equis, and several diplomats from neighboring kingdoms arrived at the castle to weigh in. Rapunzel spent too much time drowning in politics and not enough time with her loved ones, which was draining in it’s own right. But it was at least some small consolation that the endless debate distracted her, if only for a time.

The night before, she hardly slept. Fleeting dreams of desperation and anger gripped her, images of Varian with a noose around his neck, of Nigel breaking free and lunging at her, of Gothel laughing somewhere in the crowd. She dreamt of smoke, red and insidious, reaching down from the ceiling to corrupt her. She dreamt of death, Varian’s blood splattered across the floor, his hand pale and still in the firelight. 

The only thing that kept her from getting out of bed was Eugene, warm and solid at her side. How he slept so steadily was beyond her. They had not yet spoken about what Nigel’s death would mean, or how they both felt about it. Rapunzel wasn’t ready to, and she got the sense that Eugene was far less conflicted than she was.

Perhaps that made sense. He had grown up on the streets, after all, had seen his fair share of death and human misery. He dressed it up well, all suave humor and quick wit, but beneath it, she knew, were emotional calluses. The world as a morally gray quagmire was new to Rapunzel; for Eugene, it was all he’d ever known.

Before morning came, Rapunzel rose and sat on the edge of their bed, her gaze on the horizon. In the earliest hint of daylight, the rain outside had thinned to a mist. 

She had to know.

On swift and silent bare feet, Rapunzel pulled a cloak over her shoulders and slipped from her rooms. She hardly noticed when she passed guards or palace staff, most of whom only nodded as she swept by. They were aware of the shadows beneath her eyes, the determined set of her shoulders, and somehow knew to stay out of her way. 

Rapunzel’s feet carried her down flight after flight of stairs, down brazier-lit corridors, around rough-hewn stone corners, until the air around her grew cold and damp, and she found herself standing in the dungeons. A great many number of guards were on duty that morning, all of them snapping to attention when she stepped unexpectedly into their midst. 

“Your highness,” one of them began, moving to block her path. Rapunzel fixed him with a look that had him withering back out of her way. “Your father wouldn’t approve,” the man argued, an uncertain waiver in his voice.

“Tell him whatever you want,” Rapunzel answered without slowing down or looking over her shoulder. “I have to do this.”

Nigel was being held in a short, isolated hallway at the far end of the dungeons. None of the cells around him were occupied, and when she rounded the corner toward it, she found that both guards tasked with watching him had given him a wide berth. They both looked exhausted, angry and at the end of their rope. At the sight of Rapunzel, they startled badly.

“Your Highness,” one of the guards stumbled, stepping forward and then backward, clearly unaware of what to do. Their partner stepped forward in their place. 

“You should not be here,” she said, stepping in front of Rapunzel. This time, the guard did not back down, watching the princess with something like stern sympathy on her face. 

Rapunzel, too tired for pretense, looked her in the eye and did not waver. “I need to talk to him,” she said, low and sincere. “I need to understand why.”

For a moment, the guard was silent, watching her with a hard expression, looking for any uncertainty on Rapunzel’s face. Any hint that she could be convinced otherwise. When she found none, the woman took a slow, deep breath. “Two minutes,” she agreed, “but  _ only _ if you stay far back from the bars. If I have any reason to intervene, I will.”

“I understand,” Rapunzel agreed with a solemn nod. She stepped aside, watching as the two guards retreated to the mouth of the hallway. They did not leave, did not give her the privacy she would have liked, but at least at the distance they were at, Rapunzel could ignore them.

She turned back toward the cell, and took a deep breath. 

Rapunzel wasn’t sure what she’d expected to see. A man pleading for his life? A look of regret, a promise to change? For the first time, she wondered how Nigel had reacted when he’d been given his sentence. Did he bargain, did he beg, did he cry out in anguish? 

When she stepped up to the bars and saw him, she knew he had not. Nigel stood facing the small barred window of his cell, his hands tucked regally behind his back. His posture was perfect, his clothing as straight as it could be given the circumstances. He had smoothed his hair back, had adjusted his cuffs to rest exactly at his wrist bone. Even just looking at his back, Rapunzel did not see a man who had accepted defeat. 

Without turning to acknowledge her, Nigel spoke. “Finally, you show promise.”

His voice was low and quiet and jarringly familiar, even after everything. Part of her had expected him to sound like a monster, and was surprised to find that he did not. 

“Perhaps there is still hope for you, then,” Nigel continued, not turning away from the window. “If you are able to have your enemies hanged.”

Rapunzel bristled. It felt like being struck. “You were the architect of your own fate, Nigel,” she answered, her voice low in warning. 

“But it is your choice whether or not to be ruthless,” he cut back, turning toward her abruptly. In the darkness of the cell, backlit by the window, she could hardly make out his face. “You still don’t understand. The borders of the Seven Kingdoms have ebbed and flowed like the tide for centuries. Countless lives lost to gain a river here, a meadow there. The peace accords mean nothing; our enemies will always look for weakness, an opportunity to strike. And that is what you are, Princess: a weakness. A faint heart and naive hopes. I saw the fall of Corona when you returned, and how close we’ve already come, on multiple occasions, because of  _ you. _ ”

The impulse to back up swept over her. It was only with great strength of will that Rapunzel kept her feet planted, her expression firm and unwavering. She was breathing harder, suddenly, her heart pounding. She’d been told that Nigel was vicious, would lecture anyone who came near, but somehow she had still not braced for it.

“Your ‘solution’ to that weakness has thrown everything into chaos,” she answered firmly. “You’ve marched us to war’s front door.”

“Ah,” Nigel said, his voice lowering, threatening and quiet, “but Equis was already looking for war before I came along. The Saporians had already carved out a foothold. I saw three threats and was poised to eradicate them in one fell swoop, if not for your interference.”

Rapunzel forced herself to take a deep breath in through her nose, her teeth clenching.  _ Three threats. _ “If not for _ Varian’s _ interference, you mean.”

Nigel’s head lowered, his shoulders rising up. In the darkness, he looked like a predator preparing to lunge. For a moment, he stayed coiled like that, a snake looking to strike, before he visibly forced himself to straighten his posture. “You have not come to say goodbye,” he seethed. “Then why  _ have _ you come?”

Rapunzel unclenched her jaw, trying to control her own anger. She must have taken too long in her pause, must have hesitated, because when she did not immediately answer, he did for her.

“You doubt your resolve,” he guessed. “You want me to prove to you that I deserve to die. Is that it?”

She tried to force her breathing to even out. She failed. 

Nigel stepped forward. The light of the torch opposite his cell travelled up his body, revealing a pronounced limp, and a bloody black coat with fine embroidery along the lapels. He stopped before it could reveal his face, leaving him half-cast in inky shadows. 

“Then I will give you what you came for,” he continued quietly. “Allow me, Princess, to ease your burden of choice. After all, it is my job to advise you.”

His words were bitter, dark and threatening, and Rapunzel lifted her chin and stared him down unflinchingly. Her heart thundered in her chest, so powerfully that she was sure he could hear it.

“If you do not kill me,” he said, “I will get free of this wretched place. I will hunt down that little alchemist, and torture him to death. I will make it long, and agonizing. And when I am done, and he is strewn about the floor in pieces, I will come for your husband, the thief, and your handmaiden, the traitor. One by one, until all that is left is an empty castle, and a naive little girl with no one around to protect her. And then I will come for  _ you.” _

Silence, the loudest that Rapunzel had ever known, followed. She stared at the dark shape of his head, a horror rising like nausea at his words. Before she could break from her shock and even think to respond, Nigel stepped forward into the light.

The last she had seen of his face, it was red with blood, floating in her periphery while she searched the room desperately for Varian. Now on full view, her nausea took a whole new turn. His left eye was gone, cleaned but unbandaged. His face was stricken with hard lines and shadows, and it was all she could do not to flinch back.

“Have I advised you adequately, Princess,” Nigel asked, almost in a growl. 

“Your Highness,” the guard down the hall interrupted, having just noticed how close Nigel had gotten. Before the woman could bring an end to the exchange--before Rapunzel lost her chance forever, the princess took a deep breath and held up a hand to signal the guards to stand down. She heard them stop short, hesitating for a moment, granting her time.

Rapunzel believed there was good in everyone. She believed in second chances, that anyone could change. And perhaps if Nigel had only threatened her, she would have left the dungeon just as conflicted as she had entered it. 

But he had threatened her family. Eugene, and Cassandra, and Varian, who he had already hurt so badly. And while Rapunzel knew she might never make peace with his death, she understood in that moment that there was no other option.

If it was Nigel or her family, there was no choice to make.

“You’re a small man,” she said evenly, “and I pity you for it. But you have helped me in one regard: when the Seven Kingdoms are set back to rights, and I am queen, I will rule with an open and forgiving heart. And I will know that anything  _ you _ would disapprove of? Is the  _ right _ choice.”

The guards, who had been kind enough even to give her a few extra seconds, now moved down the hallway with their halberds at the ready. Nigel’s face twisted with a scowl, looking all the more awful with his ruined eye, but as she turned to leave, one final thought crossed her mind, and she stopped in spite of the guards trying to usher her along. 

“Oh, and one more thing.” Rapunzel locked Nigel in her hard gaze. “He may be young, but I already know that Varian is going to do more for this world than you  _ ever  _ could. And he will  _ always _ have a place at my table.”

With that, Rapunzel turned and stormed out of the dungeons without any need for the guards to escort her. In her wake, Nigel’s furious shouting vanished into silence.

-

At nine o’clock that morning, before a small gathering of guards, council members, and the King and Queen, Nigel was fitted with a noose. He offered no resistance, and remained stoic and unflinching as the charges against him were read aloud. In his final moments, Frederic stepped forward and looked him in the eye. 

“Do you have any last words,” he inquired, his deep voice weighted with resignation and anger.

Nigel looked straight on, above the heads of the small gathering. His posture was perfect. “Long live Corona.”

And the platform fell.

-

_ Four days later. _

If there was one place in Corona’s capital that Varian was certain he’d always feel welcome in, it was Xavier’s blacksmithery.

The night after Nigel had been hanged, Varian slept more deeply than he had in a long time. It was as though his body had finally relaxed, and when he eventually woke up, it was mid-day, and he had missed a visit from both the royal physician and his friends. 

It had taken him a few more days to convince anyone that he was okay to get up and go about the capital. Rapunzel had been openly worried about his injuries, and Eugene had been concerned that maybe, somehow, somebody might  _ still _ be cursed. It was Cassandra who had heaved a dramatic sigh and told them both to unclench, a fact that Varian was extremely grateful for. 

“If you’re so worried, go with him,” she had said, throwing her hands up. “Hell knows you both need a break.”

Which is how Varian found himself sitting on a high stool at one of Xavier’s work benches, examining a series of gears and cogs laid out on a piece of soft leather. Perched on his good shoulder, Ruddiger was a warm and comforting presence. On the other side of the shop, Rapunzel and Eugene were engaged in a debate about whether or not Rapunzel could use an extendable paint brush.

“It’s this tooth here,” Varian said, pointing at the one of the smaller cogs. Its teeth, no wider across than the head of a pin, looked entirely uniform except for the one he indicated, which had the barest chip on one edge. “It’s broken just enough to let the catchwire slide off of it. That’s why it keeps stuttering.”

Xavier leaned forward with a small magnifier pressed to one eye, examining the tooth like a jeweler might examine a diamond. “Sharp eye,” he commented, clearly impressed. “I would not have noticed that!”

Varian smiled at him, one eyebrow raised. “Sure. Except that you did, because it’s noted on that piece of paper right over there.”

At this, Xavier laughed, deep and booming, and stood upright. “So I did! But I did not think it could cause such a problem on its own.”

Across the room, Rapunzel broke out laughing. Eugene threw his hands up, declaring something about ceilings that needed painting. Ruddiger turned his attention toward them with a chirp, having been halfway to falling asleep before their outburst.

Varian turned his eyes around the forge. The kilns were burning again, a soft and present roar of contained fire inside each one. On the mantle above the fireplace, the clock he had fixed for Xavier was ticking away peacefully.

“Hey, Xaves,” Varian asked, uncertain as the blacksmith pulled his notes closer to scribble down Varian’s observations. Xavier glanced up at him with a gentle sound of acknowledgement. 

Suddenly, Varian wasn’t sure what to say. How was he supposed to articulate this so that Xavier understood? “I haven’t, uh. Gotten to thank you. For trusting me with the book.”

The crows feat around the old man’s eyes crinkled deeper with his smile. “Young man, it is I who should be thanking  _ you. _ I thrust a terrible responsibility on you. For your bravery, we are all in your debt.”

Varian felt his cheeks flush, uncomfortable hearing praise from someone so much more deserving of it than him. He drew a breath to respond, his free arm wrapping self-consciously around his middle. 

Before he could speak, Xavier glanced beyond him and abruptly stood upright. Varian blinked, watching in confusion as the blacksmith bowed respectfully.

“Dad,” Rapunzel greeted, suddenly heading their way across the open space. Varian startled, turning around on his stool to find none other than King Frederic stepping out of the overcast afternoon into the forge. 

Panic surged through Varian like a bolt of lightning, making him tense and inhale sharply. Not because Frederic had attacked him while cursed; hell, not even because Frederic had nearly beheaded him while under the influence of those red eyes. The panic that Varian felt was familiar, one he’d felt every time he’d seen the man since he had helped Rapunzel chase out the Saporians.

Because what was he supposed to say to Frederic, after everything that had happened?

“Rapunzel,” the king greeted, nodding at her and Eugene with a smile. He turned it toward Xavier as well, but before his eyes could arrive at Varian, Rapunzel stole his attention back.

“Is everything alright,” she asked, mildly on edge. “Has something happened with the council?”

That hadn’t even occurred to Varian, and the thought brought a different kind of panic into the fold. If war was on the horizon, what did it mean for Old Corona? On his shoulders, Ruddiger’s fluffy tail curled loosely around his bruised throat, familiar and protective.

“No,” the king answered, raising a hand to placate his daughter. “The council is no closer to a decision then when you were last there.”

Rapunzel’s shoulders dropped with open relief. “Ah. Well, then, uh. What brings you all the way down here?”

She glanced passed him at the gathering of guards that were waiting outside, standing at attention. Frederic squared his shoulders and cleared his throat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. 

“I, ah… have come to speak with Varian.”

Everyone--Rapunzel, Eugene, Xavier, and Varian alike--all blinked in surprise. Rapunzel’s eyebrows did not lower as she looked between her father and the alchemist in question, unsure of how to respond. 

“Oh! Uh, okay. We’ll just be right over there!” Abruptly, she turned and began to push Eugene back to the side of the forge they had been occupying only moments before. Varian looked after them in a panic, willing them to come back. Beside him, Xavier offered another bow before he too retreated, leaving Varian helplessly, hopelessly alone with the king.

“Uh, your… Your Majesty,” Varian greeted awkwardly, his cheeks hot with embarrassment. Ruddiger trilled and hopped down from his shoulder, sitting uncertainly beside the collection of gears on the table.

To Varian’s surprise, Frederic reached up and rubbed at the back of his neck in open discomfort as he approached. He avoided Varian’s eye until he was standing an appropriate distance from him, and even when he looked at him, there was a question in his eyes that Varian didn’t understand.

The man cleared his throat and tucked his hands behind his back. “Varian,” he said, though whether it was a greeting or an address, the alchemist didn’t know. “How are you feeling?”

Varian’s eyes shifted nervously to the golden crest of Corona that hung around the king’s neck, and then across the room at Rapunzel and Eugene, who were pretending to not watch the exchange. “I’m fine,” he answered lamely, after too long a pause.

“Your, ah. Your shoulder is healing alright?”

Some unhelpful part of Varian wondered if maybe he could turtle into his shirt effectively enough that he would fold out of existence. “It’ll be okay,” he answered quietly, not quite able to look the man in the eye.

An awkward silence elapsed as Frederic nodded approvingly, though the man didn’t appear too convinced. “And your… Your arms?”

Varian stilled.  _ Ah. _

He finally looked at Frederic directly, and saw that the man’s gaze was on his bandaged forearm where he was holding it around his middle. Varian dropped his own eyes to it as he held it out, rotating it stiffly. “They’ll be alright, your Highness,” he answered in a small voice, trying to sound convincing. “Actually, they kinda helped me get away from Trevor, when I had handcuffs on, so they sorta… helped,” he finished lamely, regretting that he’d shared the detail immediately after he finished. Frederic didn’t look comforted by it in the slightest. 

Varian tried desperately to think of the magic words that would make this less awkward. At the very least, there had to be some combination of words or sentences that would end this exchange as quickly as possible. But nothing came to mind, and just as he was staring to flounder and panic, Frederic took a deep, audible breath. 

“Varian, I know I am not the person you want to be in the company of right now,” he said, startling the teenager with his sudden bluntness. “And I will admit, I have not been as welcoming to you as my wife or daughter. Some actions are… hard to look beyond,” he said, and Varian winced, turning his gaze down and away. 

“Rapunzel and Arianna… They are both far more intelligent people than I am. They saw in you a good man, and a loyal companion. My mistake was that I did not see it until it was almost too late.”

With great difficulty, Varian forced himself to look back up and meet the king’s gaze. It would have been easier to stare into the sun. 

“You broke the curse, at great personal cost, and saved the kingdom of Corona. And in doing so, I glimpsed your regret, your bravery, your genuine kindness. In the few moments you took over the curse, I felt gratitude so honest and sincere that I recognized it as how I felt when Rapunzel came home to us.”

The king reached out, resting his large, warm hand on Varian’s good shoulder. “I am ashamed that I did not let myself see it sooner. The kingdom of Corona is forever in your debt.”

Varian stared up at him, dumbfounded. His mind had, unhelpfully, gone completely quiet from sheer surprise. Before he could come out of it, Frederic’s hand slipped from his shoulder, and the king stepped back. 

Then, in one elegant motion, the man swept his cape back, and bowed at the waist. Outside, the guards who had accompanied him did the same.

“Uh,” Varian exhaled uselessly, his face heating up again. If he wasn’t so shocked, he’d have ran from the forge from sheer embarrassment. As it stood, he simply sat there stammering, trying to remember to breathe, as Rapunzel came up alongside him and pulled him into a careful hug.

The king of Corona righted himself and cleared his throat again. Having accomplished what he’d come to do, the man looked considerably less uncomfortable. At the sight of how openly surprised Varian was, however, he blinked. “Have I chosen my timing incorrectly? Arianna said this would be better than holding a ceremony for you…”

“Much better,” Rapunzel agreed immediately on Varian’s behalf. “Way better. Right, Varian?”

She was smiling so broadly that he could hear it in her voice. With one arm draped over his shoulders, she was a warm comfort beside him. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice hushed with awe. “Way better.”

“Good,” Frederic said, letting go of a breath he’d apparently been holding. “Well then… I, uh, better be getting back to the castle. Much to do.”

“Thank you, dad,” Rapunzel said, still grinning ear to ear. “We’ll all be back for dinner. Right, Xavier?”

The blacksmith stood back from the exchange with a warm, proud smile on his face. “It would be my honor, Princess,” he agreed politely.

With that, the king gave them a final nod, turned, and left. In his wake, Eugene leaned in front of Varian and waved a hand in front of his face. 

“Don’t go all catatonic on us now, kid,” he warned. “You think  _ that _ was awkward, we apparently have to survive a whole  _ dinner _ now.”

“Eugene,” Rapunzel scolded. 

“Hey, I’m just saying. Your dad has never exactly been good at the whole ‘expressing emotions’ thing.”

“He’s trying,” she defended, laughing despite herself at the dramatic way that Eugene was shrugging. Before her husband could continue, she turned her attention back to her young friend. “You okay, Varian?”

Varian was gazing into the middle distance, in the vague direction that Frederic had left in. Gradually, the look of surprise on his face melted into a smile, bewildered and calculating, with no small amount of humor in the way the corner of his mouth lifted. 

“Yeah,” he answered, the moment slowly beginning to settle. “... Does this mean he’ll approve my plans for that castle-wide heating system?”

Rapunzel laughed once, surprised. “Varian,” she scolded despite her smile, openly amused that he’d immediately think to take advantage of the situation.

“Don’t listen to her. Varian,” Eugene parroted, his face and tone suddenly serious. He placed both of his hands on either of Varian’s shoulders. “Promise me you will never stop being a little shit.”

Rapunzel threw up her hands with a laugh and a groan. Varian did his best to look as serious and somber as he could, but his smile won out as he returned Eugene’s stare. 

“I promise,” he said, “I will never stop being a little shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7nlvVgMhSfBVQtHTGAgV03
> 
> 1) "Daggers" - Rapunzel visits Nigel.  
> 2) "Letters from Prison" - Frederic visits Varian.  
> 3) "Pull It, Son" - Varian's theme / closing theme.
> 
> Final notes: 
> 
> This has got to be the most enthusiastic, supportive fandom I've ever been part of. Thank you all for giving me the excuse to write self-indulgent hurt/comfort adventures. Obviously, after the response I got, I will be writing a third story for this series. It's funny--the first story had no planning or structure whatsoever, and this story had exactly one (1) page of notes which is currently lost somewhere in my ProCreate files. But this third story got me drawing a map and rewatching all sorts of old episodes. I already have 5 pages of plot notes. What have I become?
> 
> To address a quick question: no, the threequel will not be about the Seven Kingdoms AU. Don't get me wrong--I love that AU. Real here for it. But I wanna finish this story out in my own sandbox, if you know what I mean. 
> 
> Speaking of? This is going to sound arrogant af but if anyone were to write a oneshot based on this fic series, I would answer in kind with another Tangled oneshot of their request. Just saying. My roommate and I do that all the time and it's fun as hell so, just throwing that out there. 
> 
> See you in the next fic! Wear a mask!


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